


How Do You Measure a Year?

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [14]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Happy Ending, Humor, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: This pack is certainly not what he imagined when Leon was told it was full of witchers and shifters. Seems more like a bunch of slightly unstable misfits stumbling their way through life. Well, join the club, he guesses.What do the members of Kaer Morhen get up to during the months before everyone  reunites for the winter?A tale of drama, some angst, and a whole lotta fluff and love.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Original Female Character(s), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Male Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Roach/Scorpion (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 295
Kudos: 487





	1. Prologue: At Winter's End

**Author's Note:**

> I know what you’re all thinking. “Bedalk, didn’t you learn last time not to give a chapter estimate on your longer fics?” Yes dear reader, I have, BUT I HAVE A PLAN THIS TIME.
> 
> (This fic takes place immediately after “Season of Love” with “When I Growl it Means I Love You” taking place between chapters 3 and 4, so you may want to read those first. You should be able to follow along regardless though.)

**L+A ******

********

Lambert gives one last furtive glance towards the darkened keep before taking a steady breath. This is the right decision, he knows it. Turning back forward, Lambert freezes at the unamused Cat suddenly planted firmly at the gate with his arms crossed. Spinning back towards the keep where he _swore_ he left Aiden snoring away, Lambert whirls to stare incredulously at the other witcher. “How-” but he’s got nothing and finds himself with his mouth open like a fucking idiot. 

“We’re going back to bed. We’re getting a full night’s sleep. We’re going to talk about why your attempt to sneak off to the Path without me despite us agreeing to travel together was a dumb idea. And then we will merrily wave to the rest of your pack and ride out.” Aiden’s list is said levelly, quietly as he takes slow and predatory steps forward until they are chest to chest, amber eyes blazing with a fury Lambert has rarely seen in the usually relaxed witcher. 

Well. Fuck. 

The next morning, as promised, Aiden locks the door to Lambert's room he has essentially moved into before leaning against it. He’s had enough experience with Lambert’s attempts to escape having conversations like normal people to know that a simple lock is useless. “So. Talk to me, kitten. What was going on in that pretty little head of yours?” 

Lambert’s expression can only be described as murderous as he sits slouched in their bed. “Maybe I just got tired of your self-important ass. Ever think of that?” Lambert growls. 

Prowling towards him, despite needing to abandon his post to do so, Aiden plants his hands on the bed so he looms over his glowering partner. “No,” he drawls. “Because if that were the true reason you would do everything in your power to make my life miserable, not sneak off guiltily into the night.” 

When all Lambert does is look away, Aiden sighs before settling onto the bed behind the feral bastard. Reaching up, Aiden rubs the tension out of those broad shoulders until Lambert slowly starts to melt into the touch, leaning so his back is against Aiden’s chest. Propping his chin on a shoulder, Aiden presses a kiss to Lambert’s neck, wrapping his arms around the flighty witcher. Then he waits. He can be patient when it comes to his kitten. 

It's not like he doesn't know what's bothering Lambert. Sure, they've traveled together before but only for a few weeks, two months at the most. Now they're planning to spend an entire year together, as a couple no less. Of course Lambert is ready to run for the hills. But they'll talk it out like the adults they are whether the Wolf witcher wants to or not. Because that's what you do when you love someone. 

Eventually, Lambert speaks, and like most times he opens his mouth, it’s defensive, antagonizing, and full of swears. Just like Aiden likes it. “Sorry if I want to save you some time from realizing what a horrible fucking idea it is to travel with me given your delicate fucking sensibilities,” Lambert sneers half-heartedly. Aiden hums before shuffling back and guiding Lambert down so his kitten lies in his lap. The witcher goes with token resistance, crossing his arms and glaring sullenly up at Aiden. 

Tangling his fingers in the hair Lambert grows out over the winter months Aiden murmurs, “How about we make a deal. We’ll give it a trial run. One month together, and if we’re at each other’s throats we’ll come up with another idea." Lambert’s gaze flickers before his scowl is fixed back into place. But Aiden is already biting back a victorious grin. It may take a bit more convincing but Aiden already knows he won this round. 

  
**C+E **  
****

Ciri presses Ewa against the forge for one more heated kiss, trying to memorize the blacksmith’s taste before she sets off on the Path again and E remains in Aedirn. This is their reality unfortunately; a couple of visits throughout the year but that’s it. Such is the price of living different professions, but they make it work. It gets lonely on the road though. Maybe Ciri can talk to Yen next time they meet. She hates being apart from E for so long without even a letter, and Ciri knows the half-elf feels the same. 

With a sigh, Ciri parts, smirking at how dilated Ewa’s pupils are. Hmm. She’s sure the monsters can wait one more night. 

****  
**V+M**

Vesemir and Marya stand shoulder to shoulder as the final stragglers exit the keep. It always feels larger once they’re all gone for some reason. The witcher feels that familiar sense of isolation creep through him when a solid hand rests on his shoulder. “Come. I think there are still a few biscuits Lambert and Jaskier didn’t manage to find,” the shifter murmurs. 

The weight settling over Vesemir’s heart lifts slightly. Though he will worry about and miss his pups during the ensuing months, at least he doesn’t have to wait for their return alone anymore. Pressing a kiss to Marya’s cheek, Vesemir hooks their arms together and leads them back into the keep. If those two mischievous pups found his secret stash they’ll be running walls all winter. 

****  
**E+K**

Eskel is not panicking, okay? He is _calm_ he is _collected_ he is **hyperaware** of the cheerful companion walking ahead of him. As though hearing Eskel’s thoughts, Kamil turns to shoot a grin at Eskel. The witcher’s heart stutters at those glittering emerald eyes and dimples being sent his way. 

Fuck. A whole winter with this man and Eskel is still not used to him looking at Eskel with anything other than fear. (Not that Kamil ever looked at him like that. More, that’s the way Eskel is usually greeted.) At the end of the winter when Kamil asked if they could travel together Eskel nearly dropped his sword. The hunter willingly wanted to travel with a witcher on the Path. Gods and Eskel always thought Jaskier was slightly mad for wanting the same. Suppose it makes sense that anyone who is attracted to a witcher can’t be 100% sane. 

They set off on the Path at first thaw and Kamil has already proven he can keep an easy pace with Scorpion on two or four legs. It still amazes Eskel to watch Kamil shift into a fox. Over the winter months Marya and Jaskier have trained and coached the newly realized shifter and he caught on quickly. 

Still, Geralt and Jaskier will be traveling with the pair for a bit to help acclimate Kamil to shifting in the real world. “And that’s why it’s important to scout out the perfect tree at every campsite my cousin, because without one, shedding season will be utter _torment,”_ Jaskier moans from where he’s walking backwards and gesturing wildly at Kamil. 

“Shedding season?” Eskel asks, turning to where Geralt rides on Roach while watching Jaskier with a sappy expression on his dumb face. 

“Invest in a good comb,” is the cryptic response his oaf of a brother gives him.

“You are a true king with words,” Eskel remarks dryly.

“Hmm,” is the answer, further proving his point. 

Rolling his eyes at Geralt’s inability to hold a conversation, Eskel shifts the subject. “Where are you headed first?” 

“We’ll start in Redania and go from there,” Geralt responds, nodding in its general direction. “You?”

Eskel hums. “Travel south and see where that takes us.” Eyeing the smug look crossing Geralt’s face Eskel adds with trepidation, ”What?”

Geralt shrugs. “Just remembering all the times you gave me shit for having a travel companion.” 

Eskel looks down at the reins gripped loosely in his hands with a frown, trying to gather the proper words. “Didn’t realize what I was missing.” Glancing furtively at his brother, Eskel notes the besotted expression crossing his face again. Following Geralt’s line of sight, Eskel feels his own lips twitch and eyes soften as Kamil lets out a peeling laugh at Jaskier’s antics. 

Somehow the shifter has wiggled his way into the gaping wound where Eskel’s heart is supposed to be and seems to have made himself a home there. Eskel still doesn't know what to make of it all but one thing's for sure: it should be an interesting year. 

**G+J**

Geralt hums quietly to himself, smiling softly at his mate’s theatrics and Eskel's floundering attempts at expressing his feelings. It was certainly an unexpected winter but Geralt is slightly surprised to realize he’ll miss this ridiculous pack of his. He even started to warm up to that bloody Cat, though Geralt is still fully prepared to slit his throat if he gives Geralt a reason to. But that's for winter Geralt to worry about. For now, he'll simply enjoy traveling the Path with his mate once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short chapter before we get into the thick of things. I wanted to give some more time for the newest relationships in this chapter. (Even though we were just introduced to Ewa, she and Ciri are more established than Aiden/Lambert and Kamil/Eskel.) For the rest of the fic, time will be spent more evenly amongst the various couples as they spend the passing seasons together before winter comes again. I’m excited to release the rest of the story and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Title from Seasons of Love from the musical Rent


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring has arrived bringing lingering insecurities, blooming love, and a shit-ton of shedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These damn witchers have so many fucking feelings. Get your shit together guys. 
> 
> Just a warning because I want to be conscious of the comfort of my readers, these horny characters slightly got away from me. There’s nothing I would characterize as mature/explicit (though tell me if you disagree) but there’s some allusions to and a little light foreplay amidst all the talk of feelings and such. If this makes you uncomfortable you can totally skip those scenes without missing much :-)

**L+A**

“Lambert, you are not putting all of those knives under our pillow.” The witcher in question glances up at the unamused Cat looming over him at the edge of the bed before returning to the ritual he engages in whenever they stay in a town. Some people call him paranoid. Lambert likes to call it being prepared for any eventuality. He tries to avoid inns as much as he can because of the hassle but Aiden and his delicate sensibilities insist on staying in one whenever they’re near a town. Stupid Cat. 

“Get your own damn pillow then,” Lambert grumbles. 

He fights the urge to melt when lithe fingers rake through his short-cropped hair. “Well kitten, I would if you hadn’t decided that my pillow would make an excellent test subject for your latest bomb creation,” Aiden remarks dryly. 

“I stand by that decision,” Lambert says through the dagger handle gripped between his teeth as he rearranges one of the knives so it won’t stab his eye out. He releases a growl when the dagger is plucked out of his mouth, glowering at the elegant brow raised on that dumb (handsome) fucking face as Aiden rolls Lambert’s knife along his knuckles.

“How about a bargain, hmm?”

Lambert narrows his eyes. Smells like a trap. “What kinda bargain?” he asks warily, crossing his arms with a glare. 

Oh, that glint in Aiden’s eyes is not a good sign. “I’m going to kiss you.” Hm. Great, works for him. “You manage not to kiss me back, you can put as many knives under our pillow as your heart desires and we can spend the next month surviving in the wild and not a lovely comfortable inn instead.” Lambert scowls before rolling his eyes. Easy. He’s gone all his life without kissing the egotistical Cat. He can survive one kiss. 

Aiden brandishes the knife he stole from Lambert like a professor, a smirk spreading across his face. “But, you reciprocate even slightly and I decide how many knives I have to sleep on _and_ you won’t respond with a sarcastic retort when I compliment you for the next month.” Lambert’s scowl intensifies. Bloody Cat with his bloody insistence to say nice shit to Lambert. What’s he take him for? A blushing maiden? 

Aiden stretches out a hand. “Do we have ourselves a deal?” Without hesitating, Lambert grasps the hand to return the offered shake, yelping when he’s tugged to the edge of the bed and crowded by a grinning Cat. He gulps. Yeah. Easy. 

Lambert’s eyelids flutter as sword-calloused fingers begin tracing patterns along his face. Shaking his head with a growl, Lambert glares mulishly at those dark amber eyes full of intent. He initially resists the two fingers lifting Lambert’s chin but finds himself melting when Aiden’s other hand strokes through his hair. Fuck. This is fine. They’re not kissing so leaning into it a little doesn’t count. 

Lambert feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin when Aiden licks his lips but still doesn’t lean down for a kiss. Instead the Cat fucking _talks._ “You’re beautiful like this kitten,” he murmurs. “So pliant, so willing.” 

Lambert bares his teeth. “Fuck you dickhead.”

He can’t stop the shudder that racks through his frame when the hand in his hair tightens and a dark chuckle sounds from Aiden’s chest. “And so _bratty.”_ The grip in his hair lessens and Lambert doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or not. Before he can make up his mind on the matter, Aiden leans forward to trace his lips along Lambert’s neck, flicking his tongue over his pulse point. Lambert gulps, biting down on a moan when Aiden starts sucking on that spot that always turns Lambert into a puddle of goo. 

He’s never acted or felt the way he does under Aiden’s touch. With other partners it was always fast and rough, barely finishing before Lambert was tugging on his trousers and heading on his way. Aiden takes his time with Lambert though, leaves him trembling and wanting like a fucking virgin. It should be humiliating, demeaning. It’s not. 

Fingers dance down Lambert’s torso, slipping under his tunic to brush along bare skin. Lambert shudders, lips parted as he starts to pant lightly, eyes begging for something he can’t name. A wicked smile flashes across Aiden’s face, a gleam in his eye that warns of both pleasure and danger at once. A moment later Lambert finds his lips being claimed and, feeling relieved that the teasing is _finally_ over, he eagerly returns the kiss before freezing. 

Aw, fuck. 

Pulling back, Lambert goes to protest that Aiden cheated only to find himself with a lap full of Cat witcher and greedy lips consuming his own. Fingers card through Lambert’s hair roughly as Aiden hisses, “So good for me kitten.” Remembering their deal through the haze of want and longing, Lambert swallows his automatic retort, shifting slightly as more praises begin to pour out of Aiden’s mouth. 

A rush of heat shoots through Lambert and he releases a low whine, bucking up. Oh. Huh. Who knew a few pretty words would make Lambert rock hard? Blinking his eyes open, he gazes helplessly into the beaming Cat. “That’s right kitten,” Aiden croons. “Let me be good to you.” Lambert slams his eyes shut again, unable to handle the affection brimming in Aiden’s expression. Fuck. He’s totally fucked. 

****

**C+E**

Ciri is beaming. After parting for the winter, they agreed to vacation together over the summer. But Ciri couldn’t wait that long. Gripping the bushel of flowers she picked on her way to town, Ciri uses every one of her witcher skills to creep into the forge and surprise her girlfriend. “Excuse me lovely lady-” Ciri’s opening line is interrupted by a yelp when Ewa whirls around, brandishing a hot poker. 

“Melitele and all the fucking spheres what the _fuck_ Ciri?!” Ewa gasps, clutching her heart.

Shrugging sheepishly, Ciri holds out her flowers. “Surprise?” 

Dropping the poker onto the counter with a growl, Ewa grasps both sides of Ciri’s head with gloved hands. “Repeat after me.” Ciri nods. “I, Ciri, a woman who loves her girlfriend very much…” 

Grinning Ciri repeats obediently, “I, Ciri, a woman who loves her girlfriend very much…” 

The grip on her head tightens and Ewa slowly but firmly begins to rock Ciri back and forth. “Promise to never _ever_ surprise her girlfriend who loves her very much and would prefer _not_ to stab her idiotic partner with a fucking iron poker.”

Smirking and placing the bouquet behind her back, Ciri says sweetly, “Promise to never surprise her ungrateful girlfriend with flowers again.” 

Growling, Ewa snatches the flowers from Ciri’s hands before dumping out a flask that was holding a jumble of parts and shoving the bouqet into it. “I’m keeping these,” she grumbles. 

Ciri sidles up to Ewa before hooking her arms around her grumpy girlfriend's shoulders. “C’mon, you know you find me adorable,” Ciri grins, cocking her head.

Scowling Ewa grumbles, “I find you a menace to society that will put me into an early grave.” Her complaint is belied however by the gloved hands that softly grasp Ciri's hips and the sparkle in those amber eyes. 

Humming, Ciri begins peppering Ewa’s neck with kisses, grinning as the blacksmith starts to melt just a little. “Funny. Geralt said the same thing about Jaskier and they’re still going strong.” 

Ewa blanches, pulling away. “Please don’t compare our relationship to theirs ever again,” she says in a strangled voice. Chuckling, Ciri finally claims those cherry flavored lips she missed, sighing as E returns the gesture and steps closer again. Gods, but she misses this on the Path. 

Their kiss grows heated quickly, and though Ciri is tempted to do something about it, she recalls with a grimace the last time they tried to have some fun in the forge. She will never forget the look of horror on Leon's face. But maybe they can stay like this for another minute. Ciri pours weeks of longing into the kiss and finds her passion returned. Days on the Path are too quiet without E’s sarcastic quips and lilting singing. Nights are cold without solid arms wrapped around her or a mischievous smile in the moonlight as Ciri is taken apart. 

Ciri dreams of a day when they won’t have to spend the majority of their year apart from each other. But for now, she’s going to take advantage of this respite in her life’s work. Wrapping her arms around E Ciri murmurs into copper skin, “Missed you.” 

“And I you, my starlight.” 

Smiling softly at the nickname, Ciri presses a soft kiss to the blacksmith's neck. “Think Leon will let you take the day off?” 

Smirking, Ewa remarks lightly, “As the eldest, I can get him to do whatever I want.”

“You’re the eldest by 3 minutes,” a new voice complains. Turning around, Ciri watches with amusement as Ewa’s twin brother walks in with a hand over his eyes. “Are you two decent or am I gonna be scarred for life again?” As Leon continues to stumble in, Alloy, their grey-striped cat, slinks between his legs. Ciri lets out a laugh as Leon trips over the feline, barely catching himself on a nearby shelf. 

Opening his eyes, Leon glares at the two giggling women. “Some warning woulda been nice,” he grumbles. Ciri just grins. There is something utterly hilarious about watching a man over 6 feet with biceps that strain his tunic trip over a cat and pout. Rubbing a hand over his bald head Leon leans against the counter in an attempt to look suave. “Thank you for keeping it in your trousers this time,” he sniffs, crossing his arms. 

Rolling her eyes, Ciri walks up to the other blacksmith before punching him lighty in the arm. “Good to see you Leon.”

Glare melting to make way for a boyish grin, Leon snags Ciri around the neck before rubbing her head with his fist. “You too pipsqueak,” he laughs. 

As Ciri fights to get out of his grasp she gasps, “E! Save me!” 

Ewa only hums, the traitor. “I don’t know, maybe this will serve as a lesson not to surprise blacksmiths when they’re holding objects that could kill you.” 

“But you’re always holding objects that could kill me,” Ciri whines. 

Walking over to the struggling witcher, Ewa ducks down to grin at Ciri and boop her nose. “Exactly, my heart.” Ciri goes to bite her partner’s finger in retaliation for her cruelty only for E to retreat with a laugh. While Ciri pouts, warmth spreads like a winter’s fire in her heart. She missed her second family.

****  
**V+M**

Vesemir and Marya are on a hunt when the shifter bolts off without him. Rolling his eyes fondly, Vesemir trudges after his distractible mate, breathing in the fresh spring air. Despite her regal exterior, Marya is every bit the excitable wolf that her son is. It’s utterly endearing. When he catches up to her, a pheasant is lying dead in the grass and Marya is rubbing herself vigorously against a proud tree trunk. Vesemir stops in the clearing to watch his mate bemusedly.

When she notices him, Marya steps away from her scratching post awkwardly before sitting to scratch frantically behind her ear. “Shedding season?” At Marya’s affirmative whine Vesemir smiles. Picking up the pheasant he nods toward the keep. “I got just the thing.” 

Marya’s rumbling as Vesemir drags a comb through her fur an hour later echoes through the empty halls. Vesemir grins fondly. Having a companion for the months when his pups are on the Path is still relatively new but now that he has Marya in his life, Vesemir realizes how little _living_ he had actually been doing for the past several decades, perhaps longer. He didn’t know he could smile so much; they certainly didn’t encourage it in training. Witchers aren’t supposed to love, misery and loneliness the more expected bedfellows. That became even more true once Kaer Morhen was sacked. Even with his pups visiting most winters, there was always a dark gloom hanging over their heads.

With Jaskier, Marya, and the rest of the pack however, this barren husk of a keep has become a home, more so than it has ever been. Rather than the screams of agonized children being sent to their doom, during the winter months the halls fill with laughter and singing. And for the rest of the year he has this: a creature fair and strong who never ceases to amaze him with her knowledge and her wit and her light. 

Gods, Vesemir is a lucky bastard. He smiles softly down at the shifter currently melted into a pile of loose limbs. Stroking through her coat once more, he places a kiss to her head, grinning at the lazy tongue that laps across his face in response. Surveying the tufts of fur spread across the room, Vesemir hums. Shame to scatter it all to the winds. Maybe he can find a use for it. 

Turning back to gaze at the contented wolf beside him, Vesemir’s heart squeezes painfully. He’s allowed to have this. That’s something he needs to remind himself, something Marya whispers in his ear on nights when Vesemir’s demons crawl out of the box he’s tried to bury deep. He deserves this.

Vesemir takes a steady breath, and as he does, Marya shifts back before twining herself around the witcher. “Copper for your thoughts?” she murmurs into his ear. 

The witcher releases a slight shiver, his senses overwhelmed by the enthralling scent of lavender and sunshine wafting through the air. “Hmm,” Vesemir says, closing his eyes and sinking into her touch as Marya cards fingers through his long hair. 

A dark chuckle sends another shudder through Vesemir. What this woman does to him. “You’re just as bad as your pups, you know that?” Vesemir releases a low growl, peeling open an eye to glare at his mate. He can’t hold the expression for long in the face of Marya’s glittering blue eyes though. Bright as a summer sky, deep and soulful like the sea. Beautiful. 

Tugging insistently at a strand of hair Marya says fondly, “Out with it, moonlight.” 

At the name Marya had given him one eve when they lay tangled together under the stars, Vesemir’s resistance crumbles. “Just reminding myself I can have this,” he mumbles, averting his gaze from those soft eyes. 

A cool hand turns his chin back and Vesemir finds himself drowning in the quirk of painted lips, in bright sympathetic eyes, in laugh lines that tell decades of stories. “You deserve every happiness,” Marya whispers, before leaning forward to claim his roughened lips. And somehow, Vesemir thinks he might start to believe her. 

****

**E+K**

Being wrapped around another person he’s not actively trying to kill or subdue is relatively new. Eskel isn't used to sharing a bed with someone he doesn’t pay to sleep with and who doesn’t immediately kick him out once their business transaction is done. He’s definitely unfamiliar with curling up with someone for the sake of touch and affection without any intention for something more. Having corded arms wound around him just because, holding him like he’s someone safe, someone treasured...it’s novel and magical and terrifying. 

Now that he’s had a taste of the consuming, gentle, enthralling affection that Kamil offers so effortlessly, Eskel doesn’t know if he can easily let it go. Yet he can’t help but fear he’ll taint Kamil’s pure soul with his own darkness. He should let Kamil live his life, not be chained onto Eskel. It’s the merciful thing to do.

“You’re thinking too hard,” a sleepy voice sounds from where it’s buried in the crook of Eskel’s neck.

Eskel’s lips twitch fondly and he cards his fingers through the unruly hair of his- partner? Is that what he can call him? “Don’t worry about it.” 

Eskel has to bite down a bereft whine when those comforting arms slither away before forest green eyes blink hazily down on him, hair standing on end. “Don’t do that.” How can a grown man pout and look adorable while doing so? Eskel braces his hands around Kamil’s waist, trailing them up and down and smirking at how the hunter’s eyelids flutter. 

Though they sleep entwined together, they haven’t actually done anything more intimate than kiss. Eskel knows why; it centers on the bindings around Kamil’s chest. It was only because Marya asked for Eskel’s help healing Kamil that the witcher is even aware of what lies underneath the hunter's tunic, so it’s not a secret that he knows. But Kamil needs to go at his own pace and Eskel respects that. Doesn’t mean he won’t shamelessly take advantage of the shifter’s sensitivity when he wants to change the subject though.

Eskel blinks when his hands are slapped away a moment later. “No distracting me,” Kamil scowls, softening the rejection with calloused fingers that trace softly along Eskel’s marred face. “Talk to me my gentle wolf. Please?” 

Defenseless against such a tone, against that name coming off of Kamil's soft voice, Eskel drops his head back with a blown out sigh, closing his eyes. “How do you see through me little fox?” 

Humming, Kamil presses himself along Eskel until every part of them is touching and the witcher’s nose is buried in the shifter’s hair. Something in him relaxes at the embrace, and Eskel releases a long sigh as he strokes his hands along Kamil’s back, breathing in the hunter's soothing scent of pinecones and vanilla. “Oh, you’re not too hard to figure out,” Kamil teases, releasing that lilting laugh Eskel adores when the witcher growls in response. Nosing along the nape of Eskel’s neck Kamil prompts him again. “What’s on your mind dear wolf?”

Eskel tightens his arms around the fragile body above him. It’s easier to talk when he doesn’t need to look into those discerning emerald eyes, but the words still take some time to come out. When they do, they’re halting, stiff, fragmented. “Just. You know. You know you can leave whenever you want, right? I’ll never force you to stay.”

When Kamil attempts to rise again Eskel has to bite his cheek to keep himself from restraining him. He swallows dryly as those soulful eyes gaze down on him and fingers work to smooth the frown stamped on his face. “Why would I want to be anywhere else but here?” he responds simply, pressing soft lips against Eskel’s temple. 

The witcher closes his eyes, fearing he’ll shatter if he looks into Kamil’s face shining with adoration for another moment. “You deserve better,” he growls out. 

Lips trail down Eskel’s face until they press against his ear, making him shudder. “I deserve you. And you deserve love.” Eskel opens and shuts his mouth, only to find his words have dried up. They haven't exchanged that word yet; Eskel isn't even sure if he's capable of it. Speechless and at a loss, Eskel defaults to action, tilting his face until he meets Kamil’s smiling lips, sinking into the taste of honey and home. Kamil deserves better than Eskel, but perhaps Eskel can try to make himself worth Kamil’s love one day. 

He quickly gets lost in the kiss, growling playfully as Kamil nips at his lip and grips Eskel’s hair. Panic blooms through him however when Eskel realizes that Kamil is in a rather awkward position. Eskel tries to draw away but Kamil only chases after his lips, grinding down on the witcher. “Fuck,” Eskel hisses, moaning as Kamil bites teasingly at his ear. 

“Thank you for waiting, my gentle giant,” Kamil murmurs. Pulling back so green eyes can pierce golden he says firmly, “I want you tonight.” 

Eskel has to bite down on a groan, forcing himself to think about kikimora guts so he won’t do something he’ll regret. Gazing up at those shining green orbs reflected in the moonlight Eskel rasps, “You sure? I won’t push you.” 

Leaning down to press soft lips to Eskel's, Kamil breathes, “That’s _why_ I’m sure.” Eskel loses his train of thought after that. 

****

**G+J**

Geralt and Jaskier are walking into town when Jaskier catches a very distinct scent. Grinning, he shifts before bounding through the market and tackling his quarry. Of course, ambushing a witcher at Kaer Morhen is very different than pouncing on him in the middle of a market. Lambert flips Jaskier, brandishing a knife with a snarl before freezing mid-swing. _“Jaskier?”_

Threat of an imminent stabbing passing, Jaskier rumbles happily before licking a long line across the Witcher’s face while Aiden looks on with amusement. Huffing, Lambert wipes the excess slobber off with the back of his hand, scowling at the shifter. Jaskier just sits back with an eager wave of his tail. He knows the witcher can’t be irritated for long. 

Almost immediately proving his point, Lambert rolls his eyes before hooking Jaskier’s head in a stronghold. “You’re a fuckin’ menace, you know that?” Lambert grouches. Jaskier simply licks the witcher again. Gods he missed the grump. With so few witchers left, they’re usually spread too thin to cross paths with each other. Jaskier may just have to remedy that because he’s fit to bursting with elation at seeing one of his pack mates outside of winter. 

“Jaskier what have I said about licking unsanitary things?” Geralt remarks wryly from where he’s rode up behind him. Jaskier turns to give his mate a lupine grin, thumping his tail on the ground. He can’t fool Jaskier; the spark in Geralt’s eye proves he’s just excited to see his brother as the shifter. 

“Geralt,” Aiden nods. 

“Cat,” Geralt growls back. Jaskier rolls his eyes. It took all winter but Geralt had just begun to thaw around Aiden. Clearly that doesn’t mean he’s thrilled to see his brother’s chosen companion so soon. 

Warily eyeing the curious gazes of villagers sent their way, Lambert nods toward the woods. “Got a cozy campsite with some leftover moonshine from the winter. Guess I could be convinced to share.” Jumping to his feet, Jaskier starts trotting towards the site, following the mingling scents of leather, metal, and alcohol that could strip paint. 

“How many times must we go over this?” Aiden sighs. “The cold hard ground isn’t cozy. Nice inns with actual beds are cozy.”

“Don’t worry sugarplum, I’ll keep you warm,” Lambert winks, chuckling at Aiden’s incredulous expression as he mouths the pet name. Jaskier grins to himself. He’s relieved to see the two getting along. With what he knows of Lambert, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the feral Wolf tried fleeing in the night. Then again, it’s very possible he made that attempt and Aiden dragged him back kicking and screaming. Jaskier chuffs at that imagery as he draws up to the campsite. 

Wanting to hunt down that moonshine, Jaskier shifts back to two legs. At Aiden’s admiring hum, Jaskier preens while Geralt growls. As Jaskier rifles through Lambert’s bag in search of the promised alcohol, he feels fabric hit his back. “For my sanity you heathen,” Geralt groans. 

Pulling out the moonshine with a victorious grin, Jaskier takes a hearty swallow before turning to follow his mate’s bidding. “Holy mother of shit that burns,” Jaskier gasps, doubling over with a moan. 

Lambert looks far too smug. “Tried a new brew this year.” 

Jaskier sways as the drink already starts to hit. Fuck, it’s true that he has a better alcohol tolerance than an ordinary human but Jaskier should’ve known better than to chug one of Lambert’s concoctions. Leaning against Geralt, Jaskier struggles to pull up his breeches while his mate looks on with vague amusement. No help at all, the asshole. 

While he finishes his task, Geralt and Lambert begin trading tales of hunts. Jaskier scrambles to grab his notebook, jotting down key details and grinning all the while. Lambert provides far more imagery than Geralt. He also includes a lot more swearing, but Jaskier can work with it. “How do you manage to read that?” a silky voice asks curiously from behind him. Jumping, Jaskier scowls at Aiden. Bloody Cat witchers and their silent feet.

“I’ll have you know my handwriting is perfectly legible,” Jaskier sniffs. 

“If you’re trying to write in code,” Geralt comments before returning to a tale about his latest griffin hunt. Huffing, Jaskier points at his mate and readies himself for a dramatic tirade when a familiar itch starts to spread through his body. With a growl, Jaskier begins scratching frantically at his arm, dragging his bare foot along a leg in an attempt to multitask. Glancing over at him, Geralt’s lips twitch. “I’ll get the brush.” 

Jaskier releases a grateful whine before shifting so Geralt has access to his fur. Plopping onto the ground, Jaskier peers hopefully up at his mate. As Geralt settles behind him Jaskier nuzzles the crook of his neck gratefully. Shedding season has been in full swing and as usual, it’s been miserable. The only thing that has made it bearable is his wondrous mate combing him everyday. 

While the moonshine gets passed around, Jaskier releases a low, satisfied rumble. This brush is _magic._ Jaskier doesn’t know where Geralt got it but it’s currently his favorite thing in the whole wide world other than his lute. Eyes heavy lidded, Jaskier watches with lazy amusement as Lambert peers at the puddle of goo Jaskier is slowly melting into. “You could make a whole other wolf with that amount of fur,” Lambert scoffs in an attempt to distract them from his longing look. 

“I’m sure Aiden will pet you if you ask politely,” Geralt remarks lightly, not taking his eyes off of his current task.

“I don’t think Lambert could ask for something politely without a sword to his neck. And even then it’s doubtful,” Aiden muses. Letting out a soft “oof” as Lambert elbows him in the gut, Aiden rolls his eyes before opening up his arms. Lambert glances at Jaskier and Geralt furtively before shooting a questioning gaze to the patient Cat who nods encouragingly. Shuffling awkwardly so he’s in front of the other witcher, Lambert settles in Aiden’s waiting arms with a huff, trying not to show how much he clearly wants to be wrapped around him. Jaskier closes his eyes with a smile. It’s good to see Lambert in love.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With summer comes expressions of love in many different forms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3! Thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos and comments! I have a real wild week and your support is the one thing that's helping me stick to my deadlines right now.
> 
> I can’t take credit for Vesemir’s idea in his and Marya's section; I’m shamelessly stealing it from the wonderful DarkInuFan

**L+A**

With summer in full swing, the days have grown increasingly hotter which means one thing in particular: shirtless Lambert. Currently, the Wolf witcher is sunbathing on a rock, head resting on folded arms and eyes closed. “I can feel you leering at me,” he grumbles. 

Aiden grins, sauntering over to his companion and dragging a finger down his toned torso, reveling in the subtle ripple of muscles as he does so. “Can you blame me when I have such a view?” Aiden purrs. 

Peeling open an eyelid Lambert smirks. “Perv.” 

“You love it.” Aiden is about to reach for a very particular destination when, to his shock and utter disappointment, Lambert rolls off his perch. 

Stretching and responding to Aiden’s glower with a cheerful grin, Lambert says lightly, “You know what I could use? Lunch,” before throwing his tunic, armor, and weapons back on and sauntering away. 

Aiden growls lowly before following. His kitten is gonna pay for that later. “Brat,” he mutters, grinning at the middle finger Lambert shoots over his head. Gods but he loves this bastard. Now to just get said bastard to believe Aiden when he says so. They’ve made progress since the winter and start of the spring. Lambert hasn’t tried to sneak off in a couple of weeks for a start. Aiden wonders vaguely if that has anything to do with the Cat hiding all of the Wolf’s knives in retaliation for last time he tried pulling that stunt. Lambert didn’t speak to him for a week after that. 

He's lost in his latest schemes for how to get Lambert to let down some more of his walls so Aiden misses the whooshing sound of flying arrows. The Cat only registers the sound when three arrows lodge into his shoulder, stomach, and chest, a swift dodge helping him avoid a punctured lung as well. Aiden releases a few creative curses as he fumbles for his swords but Lambert is already in motion, throwing his prized daggers blindly in the direction of the arrows as he rushes toward Aiden’s sagging form. “I’m fine,” he snarls, fury at being ambushed drowning out his pain.

“No you’re bloody well _not,”_ Lambert growls, dragging Aiden to lean on him as he throws more knives at the shrouded attackers. Gods one day Aiden is gonna count how many he hides in his damn armor. Lugging him behind the rock Lambert had been sunbathing on not 10 minutes earlier, the Wolf shoves Aiden down. _“Stay,”_ he rumbles lowly.

“Bossy,” Aiden murmurs, eyes glazing over with pain.

In a rare act of unprompted affection, Lambert presses a kiss to Aiden’s forehead. “Please. I’ll be back.” 

Aiden sits back with wide eyes. Please. Fuck. Lambert doesn’t say please. He gives a jerky nod and then can only watch helplessly as Lambert draws out his sword and stalks from their shelter with single-minded fury. 

Aiden winces as he tries to shift to a more comfortable position. Fuck. Bad idea. Slumping back down, Aiden grips his sword as he waits anxiously, ears pricked for cries of pain. He doesn’t give a fuck about his injuries; if Lambert gets one scratch on him Aiden is going to cut down every last one of the fuckers who went after what is his. Aiden supposes he should be worried that his firmly held control is slipping but he’s filled with too much pain and concern to give a fuck. Lambert has yet to witness Aiden consumed by the bloodlust that has made Cats so infamous though, and if Aiden has any say in the matter he never will. 

Gritting his teeth, he tries to center himself, find that inner well of calm Aiden relies on to help keep him stable. With a push of effort, Aiden stuffs that part of himself that howls for blood back in its box where it belongs. And just in time it seems. Lambert reappears, soaked in blood and golden eyes blazing with fury. A quick visual assessment reassures Aiden that none of the blood is Lambert. “Feral kitten,” Aiden rasps with a weak smile.

“Fuck Aiden,” is all Lambert says, fully taking in the pin cushion the other witcher has turned into.

“Maybe later,” the Cat quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows only to wince instead. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” Lambert huffs. Aiden barks out a laugh, immediately regretting it. If only Lambert knew how true that was. “Stay,” Lambert orders again before disappearing. Aiden has to bite back a bereft whine, breathing out a relieved sigh when Lambert returns after a moment, lugging a medbag. “Drink,” Lambert orders, shoving a bottle of Swallow into Aiden’s hand.

“Since when do you make all the orders?” Aiden grumbles petulantly. 

“Since you’re fucking delirious from pain and blood loss,” Lambert bites out, tearing apart his bag for salve and wraps. Frowning, Lambert flicks his gaze along Aiden’s torso before taking a steady breath. “Alright you’re gonna hate me for this. Just remember all that sappy shit you’ve said to me in the past, yeah?” 

Aiden opens his mouth to respond only to bite back a strangled yell as Lambert works to dig out the first arrow. “Motherfucking son of a cock!” Aiden hisses. 

“You say the sweetest things,” Lambert mutters before facing the next one. Scrubbing his face Lambert sighs. “Of course this one has barbs." Groping around until he finds a loose stick, Lambert shoves it into Aiden’s mouth. “You’re gonna wanna bite down on that.” 

Aiden remains conscious for the next agonizing minutes through sheer force of will and petty stubbornness. Once the worst is over, Aiden spits out shards of wood. Now just come the stitches. Gasping out ragged breaths, he smiles weakly as the gruff Wolf handles Aiden with care he’s never demonstrated before, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow and blood soaking his hands. “Knew you liked me,” Aiden grins woozily. 

“Fuck off dickhead,” Lambert mumbles, absently stroking Aiden’s hair. As Aiden finally slips into unconsciousness, his smile widens. That’s as good as an I love you from his feral kitten. 

**C+E**

”Love you,” Ewa murmurs, eyes closed contentedly. They’re sprawled in a field, Ewa’s head resting in Ciri’s lap as the witcher braids flowers into her long tresses. She smiles as Ciri presses a kiss to her temple. 

Sighing, Ewa tilts her head further back to properly soak up the summer rays. As they agreed, Ciri swept back in Aedirn in the first summer months and Ewa left the shop in Leon’s capable hands. She can’t be gone long; summer is often their busiest season and a second pair of hands will be needed. But one thing the siblings always ensure is that they take time to enjoy life. Having your parents brutally murdered in front of you teaches that lesson quick. Love hard, live to the fullest, and don’t die with regrets. 

So Leon will take time off to explore the far reaches of the Continent while Ewa covers the shop, and Ewa spends as much time with Ciri as she can while he returns the favor. Still not nearly enough time in Ewa’s opinion, but she needs to make _some_ kind of living. Maybe they’ll figure something out. Until then, Ewa will grab onto every chance to soak up the light that shines through Ciri’s smile, the grace that infuses her soul, the joy that sparks in her eyes.

“Where’d you go?” Ciri murmurs, stroking some hair out of Ewa’s eyes. 

“Hm. Thinking about how much I adore you,” Ewa grins, tilting her chin to grin into her starlight’s gaze.

“Sap,” Ciri says fondly, claiming Ewa’s lips in an upside down kiss. Ewa returns the embrace with a happy sigh. Gods, what a perfect anniversary. “Got a surprise for you, love,” Ciri murmurs against her lips.

“Hmm?” Ewa prompts, eyes fluttering closed at the ghost of lips against her neck. “You have to open your eyes and sit up to see it,” Ciri teases. 

Grumbling, Ewa follows the direction, frowning in confusion at the oddly shaped golden box presented to her. Looking back up to Ciri she raises a brow. “I got a box?” 

Rolling her eyes Ciri mutters, “You’re such a little shit.”

Bumping her shoulder Ewa grins, “You love it.” 

Scowl shifting to a smile, Ciri tucks a strand of braided flowers behind Ewa’s ear. “I miss you when we’re apart,” Ciri murmurs. 

Ewa presses their foreheads together. “And I you, Starlight.” 

Pulling away, Ciri drags the box into her lap. “This is a megascope,” she explains, biting her lip as she flickers her gaze to Ewa’s before fiddling with the box. “Yennefer adapted two for us. It’s a way to communicate and see someone you have a close personal connection with when you’re apart.” 

As she stares at the contraption, warmth like the first rays of sun in the morning spreads in Ewa’s heart and through her chest. When it was just a crush it was easier to only see each other a few times a year. But Ewa and Ciri’s relationship has grown strong like the roots of an oak. While they could survive rarely seeing each other, Ewa misses her starlight, and she knows Ciri feels the same. So Ciri went out of her way to get them this. Fuck. Ewa shakes her head incredulously as she smiles so wide her cheeks hurt. “You’re a wonder,” she breathes, setting the megascope to the side reverently so Ewa can crawl into Ciri’s lap. 

“Oh?” Ciri prompts with a grin. 

“Mhm and I’m gonna show you how wonderful I think you are,” Ewa smirks, tangling her fingers in Ciri’s hair. As Ciri leans in for a kiss Ewa draws away. “But first I have something for you too.” Chuckling at her love’s pout at failing to get a kiss, Ewa stretches so she can snatch her bag without leaving Ciri’s lap, digging for the object she labored on for weeks. “Last winter I was admiring Jaskier’s medallion and he told me Geralt carved it for him. It was the one good idea I think Geralt’s ever had, other than telling that fool he loves him.” Ciri’s pout fades away as she laughs. Ewa grins. It had been quite the winter getting to know Ciri’s pack, especially her two adoptive fathers. (The amount of shit she can give them based off of stories Ciri has told her after Geralt was such an overprotective dick is golden and she can’t wait to witness their horror next winter.)

Shaking her head to clear it of any thoughts of Jaskier and Geralt, Ewa unveils her gift. It’s nothing as ground-breaking as a fucking enchanted long-range communication device but that doesn’t mean it fails to hold its own significance. Carefully, Ciri unravels the silver chain to see the object that dangles from it better. It looks fairly innocuous; from a layman’s point of view it’s nothing more than a long and thin strip of metal. Nothing special. “It’s a-” 

“Cold chisel,” Ciri murmurs, turning the object in her hand.

Ewa’s mouth drops open. “How did you know that?” 

Ciri shoots her a mischievous grin. “I don’t just loiter in your forge to ogle your arse you know,” she teases. Ewa blinks. “What does it do again?” Ciri asks innocently. Now Ewa glowers. If Ciri knows the name she bloody well knows what it does but Ciri is gonna make Ewa say it. Little minx. 

Fiddling with a stray flower Ewa mumbles, “It looks small and delicate but is actually one of the most valuable and strong tools one can have.” Tapping the body she explains, “It’s made from tempered steel. Can bite through nearly any other metal with a strike of a hammer. Depending on its need it can smooth out roughened surfaces, shape wood, or cut through metal.” Meeting Ciri’s eyes, Ewa shrugs. “I think of you when I use it. People underestimate you and don’t see your strength.” Tucking a loose lock of hair behind Ciri’s ear Ewa smiles ruefully. “And you’ve spent a long time navigating my rougher parts, longer than anyone before you.”

Clearing her throat, Ewa adds gruffly, “And then there’s this.” As she shifts her thumb so it presses against the tool’s head, a sharp blade shoots out. Cradling the chain the chisel is attached to Ewa tugs, demonstrating how easily it snaps. “If you’re ever in trouble and can’t have access to a weapon, you’ll have this.” 

Ciri's been utterly silent during Ewa's speech so with slight trepidation she peeks under her eyelashes to where Ciri’s eyes are glowing like a forge’s flame. Wordlessly, Ciri lifts up her hair and turns. Gulping, Ewa retracts the blade before clasping the necklace around her Starlight’s neck, kissing her nape. 

“Ewa,” Ciri hums, turning with a particular glint in her eye that always spells mischief. “You know Geralt carved that for Jaskier as a betrothal gift, right?” Ewa’s eyes bulge out. Aw, fuck. 

“That scheming little wolf,” Ewa hisses. 

Ciri’s laughter is like the pattering of rain on tin. Beautiful. “I’m not asking for this to be a proposal E,” Ciri says, and oh how her smile could light up any cloudy day. Tension that had been thrumming in her sternum relaxes. It’s not that Ewa hasn’t considered it. Just. Seems like a big step. Lifting up Ewa’s chin, Ciri brings her close for a languid kiss. “Thank you, sweet. I will treasure it,” she whispers fiercely, and Ewa soon finds herself lost in her heart's lips.

****

**E+K**

Kamil grins as he clambers up a tree, bow and arrow slung upon his back. The first time he did this, Eskel went wide mouthed with shock and subtly adjusted his trousers. Since then, Kamil tries to take advantage of this particular skill. Currently however, Eskel isn’t ogling him, too busy creeping through the woods in search of wargs. 

Though Kamil has proven his skill with a bow, Eskel is wary of bringing him on hunts, which is understandable. But when the witcher was hired to take down a pack of wargs, Kamil was eager to tag along. Payback will be sweet. Though of course if it weren’t for the beasts that attacked Kamil, he never would’ve met Eskel, never would’ve found an end for his lifelong pain and discovered he was a shifter. So maybe he should thank the wargs. 

Nah, he’s just gonna kill them. 

Settling onto a sturdy perch, Kamil peers across the woods and spots the pack of mangy beasts. Looking down to Eskel as he strings his first arrow, Kamil gives a low whistle, nodding in the direction they're gathered. When Eskel gives the thumbs up, Kamil grins and takes the first shot. Right through the heart, as expected. A howl echoes through the forest, and nothing like the beautiful calls that Jaskier and Marya make whenever Lambert and Ciri decide to prank them. These howls are hoarse and raspy, grating on Kamil’s sensitive ears.

Before they even begin their charge, Kamil has already shot down two more and is only building momentum. That man who hired them wasn’t fooling when he said it was a huge pack. Fuck, Kamil hopes he has enough arrows. He tries to retrieve them whenever he shoots, but sometimes they’re lost or unmendable. 

As the wargs make it into the clearing, Kamil only gives himself a second to admire Eskel’s lithe form. For such a large man, he moves like a dancer. It’s breathtaking. Kamil is shooting on every blink, every breath, doing his best to keep the creatures from surrounding Eskel. Between the two men the ranks are thinning rapidly when a warg that clearly has more intelligence than the average lumbers up to the tree Kamil has made his perch. Unwilling to find out if wargs can climb trees, Kamil slings his bow back over his nearly empty quiver, pulls out his hunting knife from his belt, and tumbles neatly down the tree so he lands on top of the beast, knife buried deep in its back. 

When he looks up to face the next warg, he finds nothing but carnage and a witcher staring right at him. Slowly, predatorily, Eskel stalks up to Kamil, the hunter rising to meet him. Blood drips down the witcher’s sword and streaks across his armor but Kamil ignores all of that in favor of admiring Eskel's face. His golden gaze is almost entirely consumed by black, but it’s not from a potion this time. (The first night Kamil witnessed Eskel under the power of one of his potions was an interesting one indeed.) 

Kamil licks his lips and a second later finds them claimed in a hungry kiss. Sword forgotten, Eskel grips Kamil tightly and drags the hunter until they're pressed together. Kamil moans lowly into the kiss. “I. Am never bringing you. On hunts again.” Eskel growls in between greedy kisses along Kamil’s neck. 

Lifting onto his toes with pleasure Kamil gasps, “‘Cause you’re afraid I’ll steal your job?” 

The ensuing rumble vibrates along Kamil’s skin and makes him shiver with want. “Because I almost got my hand bit off ‘cause you were so captivating.” Kamil grins. Wait till the witcher sees some of the trick shots he’s capable of. 

Kamil’s joy is short-lived, however. When they return to the village with the warg pelts, the forester who hired Eskel refuses to pay up. Spitting at Eskel’s feet the vile man sneers, “The bleedin' alderman needed the job done, hired me. I just needed someone to do the dirty work before I claim that money for meself. Even better I found myself some _thing."_ Releasing a rasping cackle he gestures at Eskel's face. "Look at yer ugly mug. Should kill you. Be more merciful than walkin' around lookin' like a monster you're paid to hunt.” 

Eskel’s empty hand curls into a fist, but as it does five other men surround them. Flicking his gaze around the ambush, Eskel returns to stare silently at the gloating forester before wordlessly throwing the pelts to the side and stiffly walking away. 

An all too familiar curdle of fear and shame curls inside Kamil’s chest as he gapes at the men gleefully gathering up the pelts. “You got somethin’ to say witcher slut?” One of them sneers.

Shrinking away from the leers around him, Kamil races after his sunlight. By the time he catches up to the witcher, Eskel is already mounting Scorpion. “Best to get outta town fast,” Eskel mumbles without glancing at the hunter. Kamil just follows him silently, head bowed low. He's used to being ridiculed and chased out of towns. Nothing new here. 

They don’t speak throughout their journey and Eskel doesn't provide any guidance on their next destination like he usually does. But despite the encroaching darkness, Kamil trusts Eskel to lead the way and keep them safe. In the meantime, he’s left reconciling the meek man he saw in that tavern with the noble warrior he knows Eskel to be. Kamil dimly recalls tales about the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, Geralt. The self-same man who Kamil has witnessed tackle his partner into snow with a bellowing laugh, hug his daughter tightly before she returns to the Path, clap his brothers on the shoulder with a soft smile, and curl up with a cat by the hearth has been called murderer and butcher. Whatever gave him such a horrendous title might have been something as twisted as what Kamil had just witnessed, but Geralt had decided to fight instead of walking away. What awful options to choose from. 

“Are you alright?” Kamil asks gently, peering up at the expressionless witcher. 

“Course. Why wouldn’t I.” Kamil notes how though it was phrased like a rhetorical question, it came out more as a challenging growl from a wounded wolf. Wanting to have this conversation face to face, Kamil simply hums noncommittally and continues walking, yawning exaggeratedly. “Guess we’ll camp here for the night. Should be far enough away,” Eskel mumbles.

As Eskel loosely ties up Scorpion, Kamil putters around the sheltered area, gathering wood and materials for a fire. Eskel is gone when Kamil turns around however. With a sigh, Kamil arranges the materials and strikes until he catches a flame. No doubt the witcher went to kill something, for a meal as well as the catharsis. 

Kamil doesn’t bring it up again until later that evening. Rather than sit curled together, Eskel deliberately chose a perch away from Kamil. And instead of placing his bedroll beside Kamil’s like they usually do, Eskel is setting it up on the opposite side of the fire. Kamil can’t handle it anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” Fuck, he hates how pathetic he sounds. 

Eskel’s head shoots up from where he’s arranging his bed for the night. “Of course not Kamil. Why would you ask?” Kamil gestures pointedly between their two bedrolls. Shifting, Eskel grabs his steel sword and whetstone and begins sharpening it. Curious, since he used the silver one today. And of course he’s doing that in the middle of a conversation; if there’s one thing Kamil has learned about witchers other than their difficulty with expressing emotions, it’s that when they are unable to avoid a conversation about emotions they need to be doing something with their hands simultaneously. 

But Kamil isn’t having that this time. Striding over to his companion, Kamil firmly pulls the sword and whetstone from his grasp, sitting in Eskel’s lap in their place. He frowns as he watches the witcher turn his scarred side from the fire and Kamil’s view. 

Of course. This isn’t just about not being paid and being run out. It’s for what else that horrid man said. 

Well, fuck him. Guiding Eskel to face Kamil fully, he presses his lips gently to where the scar fades into Eskel’s hairline before making his way across and down the witcher’s face. He may not know how it happened but Kamil is very much aware that Eskel views it as a twisted thing rather than a mark of his strength and survival. Large hands shift to grip Kamil, but whether it’s to steady the shifter or the witcher is unclear. 

If he were a poet like Jaskier, perhaps Kamil would be able to shower Eskel with flowery words and prose to try to get the man to see his worth. But all Kamil can say is what he knows. Pulling away so he can stare into eyes as golden as the sun Kamil states, “You are like my bow. Powerful. Fatal. Elegant. Beautiful.” 

Too many emotions flash far too quickly across Eskel’s face for Kamil to possibly keep track. But the one Eskel settles on can only be described as love. Even if they haven’t said those words to each other, Eskel shows it every time he reads to Kamil or hunts down the necessary materials for more fletchings or allows Kamil to touch his scar. Or kisses him the way he does right now. With passion and desperation and a fierceness Kamil has never experienced before meeting this wonderful man. He could get lost in such a kiss for hours. And that’s exactly what he does. 

****

**V+M**

“Vesemir have you seen my-” Marya cuts herself off, blinking, as she takes in the scene. Vesemir is seated in his study surrounded by fur and is hard at work sewing something together. It takes a moment for the shifter to recognize the fur as hers. Must have been from when she was shedding in the spring. Unused to the colder climate, her coat thickens in the winters making it far more uncomfortable to shed. Vesemir helped this year, laboring for hours as he combed through a mountain of fur. 

Crossing her arms Maraya drawls, “Care to catch me up my love?” 

Jolting up, Vesemir looks slightly sheepish, which is an amusing expression on such a weathered face. “Had an idea,” he rumbles, returning to his work. Chuckling at the terse response, Marya rounds his desk before hopping on top of it, heedless of the fact that he is mid-stitch. 

Smirking at the scowl shot her way, Marya trails a foot along Vesemir’s leg, chuckling at how the simple action immediately wipes the expression of his face, replacing it with something far more pleasurable. “And what idea was that my moonlight?” she asks humorously.

Trailing his hands down Marya’s bare legs under a rare skirt (it is summer after all) Vesemir mumbles, “The pack room could use some new rugs and pillows with so many more people visiting.” 

Marya smiles softly. Oh, that old sap. Leaning down to press her lips to his cheek Marya murmurs, “Wonderful idea my love. Now make room, you’re doing this wrong.” 

They aren’t too productive for the rest of the afternoon; in order to prove to Marya that he knew what he was doing, Vesemir whacked her with the pillow he was in the midst of working on. Once Marya retaliated with a smaller pillow he had begun, it only devolved from there. 

When they’ve exhausted themselves, they lay laughing and gasping for air on the ground of Vesemir’s study, the evidence of their battle scattered every which way. “See? Told you they weren’t sewn correctly,” Marya chuckles, picking up a flattened pillow. Growling, Vesemir drags the still snickering shifter atop him and shuts her up in the most effective way he knows. 

Much later, Vesemir surveys the carnage with a huff. “I know how to sew,” he grumbles. 

“Yes dear,” Marya says from where she’s braiding his hair idly.

“It’s your fur that’s the problem.” 

Vesemir bares his teeth at his mate when she tugs his hair in retaliation for the remark. “Perhaps you could have asked the shifter in residence for help, hm?” Marya prompts. 

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Vesemir grumbles. Marya’s heart flutters. Oh, her love. Steady and dependable as the cycles of the moon, healing and temperate as its light. All her life the moon has been her one constant companion, her guide through darkness and hopelessness. That’s gone double for the man before her. Drawing him closer to her chest, needing to be wrapped in his warmth and scent, Marya presses a gentle kiss to Vesemir’s nape. “The pups will love it,” she murmurs.

“Hm.”

“Let me help? I once tried teaching Julian but he didn’t have the patience for the kind of thing. For all I know the boy scatters his fur to the wind,” she grumbles. 

The rest of the evening is spent side by side as Marya demonstrates how to bundle and sew the fur so it stays together. When Marya starts humming however, Vesemir’s productivity slows. “I’d like to hear you sing one day." 

Marya releases a rough laugh. “I believe you have me confused with my son.” 

Eyes darkening, Vesemir turns fully to slowly rake his gaze up and down Marya’s body. “I don’t think I’m in danger of doing that,” he rumbles, causing Marya to shiver slightly. 

Slapping his arm with the back of her hand, Marya scoffs, “I’m nothing special Vesemir, I enjoy my humming.

“Hm.” 

Rolling her eyes Marya remarks dryly, “Though you do enough humming for the both of us.” Vesemir shoots her a boyish grin, taking decades off of him. Stroking a hand down that battle-worn face Marya murmurs, “I like seeing you smile. Like the moonlight. It shines without blinding me.” Vesemir ducks his head, fiddling with the rug he had abandoned earlier. 

Marya sighs. These wolves. Every last one of them were taught that their only worth is their ability to hold a sword. She’s lost count of how many times Marya wishes to transport herself through time to speak with those immoral imps who forged and trained them all. There are better ways to raise protectors. Ways that don’t involve torturing and killing young boys barely old enough to have seen the world, ways that don’t dim the light and hope in their eyes, force them to dampen their emotions, smother their beauty. Ways that don’t demand a life of miserable and isolated servitude for those too ungrateful to even share a meal or the warmth of a campfire.

A calloused finger brushes questioningly along Marya’s clenched fist. With forced calm, Marya breathes through her anger and turns to the worried gaze of her mate. “I love you my moonlight,” she says fiercely. 

Guiding her hand to his lips Vesemir rumbles, “And I you, my huntress.”

****

**G+J**

”And _that’s_ why you should never ask Marya about the time in Skellige,” Jaskier hiccups, slamming down another empty mug. 

“I’m cutting you off little wolf,” Geralt says, lips twitching as he snatches the waiting mug brimming with mead out of Jaskier’s reach. He had left the bard to perform while he did a fairly standard hunt and apparently the patrons convinced him to let them pay in drinks instead of coin. 

And the dumbass agreed. Because he’s a dumbass. Geralt’s in love with a dumbass. 

It’s moments like these, like when his mate decides that alcohol makes good currency, that Geralt has to seriously question his life decisions. As Jaskier tries to be sneaky in an attempt to steal the tankard back and the witcher proceeds to subtly inch it to the left, he smiles. Then again, life would be much more dull and far less entertaining if Geralt made decisions that didn’t lead him right here. 

As a suspicious hand starts creeping down Geralt’s leg in a show of subterfuge, a voice as familiar as his own sounds behind him. “Bard, for the sanity of the patrons, think you can keep it in your breeches?”

“ESKEL!” Jaskier exclaims in a volume that makes Geralt wince. Fucking singer vocals. Neatly removing the hand still stubbornly in his lap, Geralt stands to give his brother a hug. He rubs his face tiredly though when Jaskier shifts a moment later in order to properly greet his “cousin” as he likes to call Kamil. Eyeing the people who were too stingy to pay a bard for some singing, Geralt grabs the shifter by the scruff and drags him out of the tavern. He doubts they'll take kindly to a wolf in the establishment. 

Jaskier’s usually better at not shifting publicly, but between the alcohol and excitement at seeing Eskel and Kamil, he has no inhibitions left. “Is he okay?” Kamil asks timidly as Jaskier attempts to jump up and lick his face, making him stumble.

“He’s drunk,” Geralt grunts. 

Guffawing, Eskel slaps Geralt on the back. “What’s it like to be drunk and shifted do you think?” 

Geralt hums. “Dunno. He’s never tried it before.” The two witchers pause their brisk walk to stare at the shifter currently rolled onto his back and wagging his tail wildly. Geralt drags a hand down his face. Motherfucker. 

If the confused whining and drooping tail are any indication once they settle at Kamil and Eskel’s campsite, there’s a reason Jaskier hasn’t shifted when drunk before. It’s because he’s too fucking inebriated to shift back. “I can try to help?” Kamil offers from where he’s being smothered by a drunk wolf. 

Waving a hand Geralt replies hopelessly, “Be our guest.” As the two witchers watch their two shifted mates communicate in yips and growls and rumbles, they hum simultaneously. “Ever thought you’d be here a decade ago?” Geralt asks. 

“Which part? Being alive, having a partner, having a partner who’s shifted, or witnessing someone dumb enough to fall in love with your stinky arse?” Eskel asks, nudging Geralt’s shoulder with a rare grin. Though, perhaps not so rare, not since a certain wolf came crashing through the gates of Kaer Morhen. But regardless of the shift Geralt has witnessed from his brother since Eskel met Jaskier, there’s something more now. He can’t put a finger on it, but Eskel seems...lighter, perhaps. Like a weight has been lifted. 

Following Eskel’s fond gaze to where he’s watching the shifters twined together, Geralt returns to his brother’s request for clarification to his query. “Hm. All the above?” 

Eskel releases a deep laugh. “Yeah, never woulda thought we’d be here,” he says with an incredulous shake of the head. 

Geralt hums. “You and me both.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you don’t realize until you write all three nicknames in one chapter that you somehow gave three different terms of endearment that all end with light. I would like to say it was on purpose but...I would be lying. Moon, star, and sun were just the things I imagined these characters would see in their significant others. Whoops?


	4. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As another year begins to close, have all our relationships remained strong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late! Yesterday got a lot busier than planned. Hopefully there will be no more surprises and the last chapter will be out tomorrow.
> 
> NOTE: Geralt and Jaskier’s passage takes place immediately after “When I Growl it Means I Love You” so if you haven’t read that fic already, it might be helpful for you to do so. Otherwise you should be able to figure out what’s going on without reading it. :-)

**E+K**

Kamil doesn’t like assholes. Only assholes like assholes really. He has encountered his fair share of assholes over one lifetime and Kamil had always thought it was better to walk away than engage. He _thought._ What he’s learned over the past year however is that there’s a big difference between walking away meekly when you’re the target and walking away meekly when someone you love is the target. Which has brought them to today. 

“I fucking _swear_ you cuss him out one more time and I won’t hesitate to shove my dagger into your fucking eye!” Kamli spits as he’s hauled away by an amused yet concerned witcher. 

“C’mon my feral fox, not worth it,” Eskel murmurs in his ear, a smile brushing against his neck.

Sinking into the embrace with a huff, Kamil allows himself to be dragged away and out of the tavern. “Fucking hate bullies,” he grumbles, crossing his arms petulantly. 

Pressing a kiss to his nape as Eskel continues to carry his load away, he says wryly, “My hero.” 

All at once Kamil’s fight rushes out of him. Turning in Eskel’s arms Kamil nuzzles his neck. “I know you can handle yourself Sunlight. I just hate seeing you brought down so low by a couple of ungrateful bastards,” he huffs dejectedly. 

Shifting so Eskel’s arms are looped under Kamil’s legs, the witcher kisses him softly, his pace still steady and brisk as they abandon the town behind them. “It’s part of the fate I’ve been dealt, my fierce fox,” Eskel sighs, carding fingers through his mussed hair. Kamil feels that now familiar surge of anger and helplessness at the injustice of it all. Eskel is the gentlest, sweetest, most earnest creature Kamil has ever encountered. Yet he’s reviled for being something he didn’t even choose to become. He’s undoubtedly endured decades of abuse from the same strangers who will beg him for help, and Kamil knows that Eskel’s scar doesn’t help matters. 

Yet Eskel isn’t bitter or jaded or apathetic. No-that’s one of the most remarkable things about it all. Eskel still _cares._ He still finds the beauty and joy of humanity through their poetry and music. He still treats those he encounters with a gentleness and consideration not found anywhere else. Eskel is more human than most of the humans Kamil has had the displeasure to meet. He’s remarkable. 

Turning so he can tuck his face into the witcher’s neck and soak up the scent of books and rain and leather that’s uniquely Eskel, Kamil blows out a sigh. “Sorry for making a scene,” he mumbles. “I’ll do some extra hunting so I can make up for your lost coin.” Now that he’s been wrapped up in Eskel’s arms and calming scent, Kamil feels embarrassed by the way he acted. He’s never had such an outburst like that before; it stands to reason that this wondrous creature continues to unveil depths of Kamil he never knew about. 

Pressing a kiss to Kamil’s forehead, Eskel says firmly, “Nothing to apologize for.” Grinning he adds, “That’s the most entertainment I’ve had since Jaskier shifted while he was drunk.” Chuckling at the memory from the summer, Kamil snuggles further into his love’s embrace. 

The fondness Kamil feels toward Eskel is overpowering at times. Eskel is security and stability and twinkling eyes and sunlight and _love._ Kamil’s been grappling with how to tell Eskel how he feels, despite the fact that he does his best to show the witcher everyday. He thinks he’s finally come with the perfect way of confessing to Eskel though, it’s just a matter of when. 

The witcher’s golden eyes dance as he smiles fondly down at Kamil, arms forged to kill cradling him like he’s something precious. Grinning like a fool up to Eskel, Kamil makes up his mind. Tonight it’ll be. 

Eskel is finishing his evening meal when Kamil comes up to him, holding something behind his back. “Eskel?” 

“Hm?” Eskel asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like the wolf he is. 

Hiding his amused smirk Kamil shifts on his feet. “I have something for you.” All at once Eskel’s lazy posture and sleepy eyes shift so he’s sitting alert, gaze sharp and clear. Pulling out the book of poetry he had secretly bought and worked hard to read, Kamil flips to the page he has practiced countless times. Taking a steady breath, he starts reading slowly, hesitantly. (The one problem with surprising Eskel is that the witcher couldn’t help Kamil with the harder words.) 

_You ask me why I stay  
You ask me why I’m here  
You too-urn your face away  
And fu-flinch when I draw near_

_Wu-ha-what can I say my love  
Than what is in my hee-art  
Your soul is puh-p-yure as a flying duh-ove;  
I cannot bear to be a-part_

Brow creasing in concentration and frustration, Kamil powers through, ears heating at how much he’s stumbling through the words. But he started and he’s gonna finish, by all the gods.

_Your eyes shine like raw star- starlight  
When you lag-laugh my heart’s fit to buh-berst  
You set my soul alight  
With every tou-tuch and wor-d_

_So w-hu-why, oh why, would I run  
When ev-er-y scar shines throw-through  
You are my lit-light, my sun  
And all I want is you_

Cheeks burning with humiliation, Kamil closes the book, hunching his shoulders. “Sorry I butchered that,” he whispers, scuffing his boot. “I tried practicing but-” Kamil lets out a squeak when he finds himself being squeezed in a tight hug, face smushed into the broad chest he admires so much. 

“It was perfect,” Eskel rasps. Pulling away to lick hungrily into Kamil’s mouth Eskel growls, “You’re perfect.” Kamil’s embarrassment flies away like leaves in the wind as he’s consumed by greedy hands and lips. He smiles as he’s lowered to the grass and the book is forgotten. He should’ve realized earlier that love poetry would get Eskel hot and bothered. This is certainly something to keep in mind for the future. All thoughts of the future are promptly swept away however, and Kamil gladly allows everything to fade except the gentle giant above him. 

Later, Kamil feels that relatively new drive to curl up with Eskel on a more instinctual basis. Shifting, he crawls sleepily into Eskel’s lap. Rough fingers drag through his fur and Kamil releases a happy rumble. Just what he needed. Eskel gropes around until he retrieves the poetry book Kamil has had hidden since early summer. Soon, Kamil is lulled to sleep by soothing fingers and the soft baritone of his sunlight expressing his love to him, as another piece of him slots into place. 

****  
**V+M**

Vesemir lays out a blanket on the forest floor as Marya organizes the various food items they carried down with them. Tonight will be one of the last evenings before the keep starts to fill up. Of course he loves their pups dearly but they can be such little shits. So if this will be one of the last nights they have truly alone, Vesemir will make it a memorable one. No dramatics or side comments or surprise entrances from their pups, just him and his mate soaking up each other’s company. 

Vesemir and Marya sit shoulder to shoulder as they eat the spread they prepared together. They don’t speak, allowing the music of the woods to fill their silence. They don’t need to speak; so much of what the shifter and witcher wish to say is communicated through touch and actions and that is more than alright for them. Vesemir never thought he would grow to appreciate the silence that falls over the keep during the warmer seasons. But the silence is not a reminder of his isolation anymore; rather, it’s companionable, comforting. For even if they don’t always talk, sounds still echo through the keep. The clanging of swords during sparring, the banging of dough for biscuits, the beautiful humming Vesemir adores. Speaking of…

Rising, Vesemir offers up his hand. Rolling her eyes with a grin, Marya takes the hand and gracefully rises up. Her smile is quickly replaced with an “Oh” of shock when Vesemir grips one hand around Marya’s waist and clasps the other in the hand he already holds. What? He’s a cultured witcher, he knows how to dance. Marya tilts her head questioningly, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know, dancing usually requires music,” she remarks in that dry way of hers he loves.

“Hm. Guess we’ll have to make due with humming,” Vesemir remarks innocently.

Marya glares at him witheringly which just makes him smile. “I’m not singing for you,” she warns. Vesemir shrugs and then starts humming a melody that has spread far and wide across the Continent. Marya watches him with trepidation but when Vesemir starts swaying, she slowly follows along. Soon her low humming joins his, and Vesemir does a spin, making Marya laugh. And what a wonderful laugh it is. Hearty and deep like her whole being wants to join in on the joy. As they twirl, Vesemir takes a deep breath. Well, it’s now or never. He opens his mouth.

_Outwardly he says, I try so hard  
to make you laugh at me  
And she, she does, she laughs  
As though she’s not heard the joke  
Ten thousand times before_

_And he adores her,  
he watches her get dressed  
As though she’s hurtling through time  
Oh, darling please be mine_

His voice is raspy like rattling bones. Vesemir knows he can’t sing like an angel but that’s not the point. Marya has halted their swaying to stare at him with a mixture of awe and shock. And for a moment they stand there suspended, her eyes glowing in the moonlight, hair falling down her back like a waterfall, trousers and tunic mussed and grass stained. Beautiful. 

Marya clears her throat. And from her lips she sings, her voice deep and timid as she looks at him with a nervous expression he hasn’t seen since the night they confessed their feelings for one another. 

_She promises to fight them all  
When it all becomes too much  
And he, he curses at the world  
For leaving him behind  
And then he’s falling out of touch_

Beaming, Vesemir takes over, swaying them back and forth.

_And she is stronger than he’s ever been, he knows  
She brushes her hand through his hair  
He’s got so much fucking hair_

Marya laughs with delight at the line, throwing her arms around him and idly playing with his long locks. Tucking his face into her neck Vesemir wraps his arms around her torso, pressing them together until nothing is between them.

_And he holds her close  
just to keep the world at bay  
And when they’re sure no one can hear them  
She’ll turn to him to say  
She’ll turn to him and say_

Vesemir squeezes Marya as she begins singing once again, stronger, more sure of herself. He joins in, their voices twining together as they dance under the starlight. And Vesemir knows this song was written for them. Because it’s true. Holding this creature to him, he knows in his soul that this was the reason he was born. To be here, now, wrapped in the arms of his love. 

He didn’t realize that he had been missing a piece of his soul until Marya blew into the keep with a confidence and grace that took his breath away. He thinks of all the events that had to line up for them to meet and he realizes he has Jaskier to thank. If that boy hadn’t stubbornly stuck to Geralt like a particularly cheerful burr, Vesemir never would have met Marya. Thank the gods the pup has less sense than a gnat. 

Vesemir wishes time could freeze for just a moment as their voices rise to join the symphony of owls and wolves through the woods, as Marya’s eyes shine with joy and love, as her laughter when he dips her soars through the air. Just for a moment, he asks. So he can capture this image, this feeling and hold it close whenever he needs to be reminded why he’s here. 

Because he’s never been more certain of why he was spared when all of his comrades died than right now. It’s so they could find each other, so their lonely souls could meld together. He will never stop mourning his brothers, but each day he spends in this woman’s arms, Vesemir feels a little more of the darkness that has haunted him for centuries begin to drift away. 

****

**G+J**

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief as he curls up next to Geralt by their campfire. As much as Geralt was absolutely adorable as a wolf, he missed his mate’s grunts and hums and dry, monosyllabic comments. He’s about to remark on this when a rabbit appears from out of the woods. Jaskier doesn’t even twitch, his instincts to chase after every animal he sees restrained since he was a pup. But Geralt. Geralt bolts up and before Jaskier’s uncomprehending eyes, shifts into a fucking wolf again and chases after the bloody rabbit. 

Cursing, Jaskier shifts to chase after his wayward mate, mind whirling. Yennefer undid the curse! Why the fuck would Geralt turn into a wolf again? Jaskier catches up to Geralt just as the wolf reaches the poor rabbit’s burrow and is trying to dig a hole to reach it. Running up beside him, Jaskier butts his head worriedly. _Mate_

The white wolf turns to him, cocking his head. _Mate_ he rumbles in agreement, rubbing his muzzle against Jaskier’s neck. As he does so, Jaskier receives a flood of emotion: love, affection, and underlying confusion.

He freezes. Wolves can’t communicate emotions the way shifters can. When Geralt was cursed his emotions were closed off to Jaskier. But if Jaskier can sense them now…

Jaskier thinks back to their visit to Yennefer this morning. After she fixed Geralt she wore an enigmatic smirk that Jaskier just shrugged off as a Yennefer thing. But now he recalls what she said as they left. “Now you wolves, try to stay out of trouble until winter, yes?” Wolves. It’s true that Jaskier gave Geralt the moniker White Wolf but Yennefer has never called him that, claiming it was too tawdry for her taste. So if she said wolves and not wolf...oh Jaskier has a witch he’s going to murder. 

Turning to the witcher-wolf whose emotions have morphed to concern as Jaskier hasn’t responded, the shifter projects images and memories of how he shifts back to human. _Follow_ he commands, snorting at the wolf’s solemn nod. A long moment later two nude men stand in the middle of the woods, one blinking with confusion and the other with steam coming out of his ears. 

Pacing, Jaskier growls, “Oh when I get a hold of that witch I’m gonna-” Raising his hands in the pantomime of strangulation, Jaskier whirls around to Geralt who is still processing it seems. “She made you a fucking shifter! I don’t know _how_ or _why_ but it was probably for her own personal amusement!”

Large hands land on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Breathe, little wolf,” Geralt soothes.

Taking a long breath and blowing it out through gritted teeth, Jaskier looks up at Geralt helplessly. “How are you so calm about this?!” 

Geralt shrugs. “I’m used to weird shit happening to me at this point. Why’s it got you so agitated?” Jaskier stares up at Geralt, mouth gaping open. Why is he so agitated?? How does the witcher not realize how bad this is?!

“Geralt,” Jaskier says with forced calm. “It took me until I was 16 years old to fully have a handle on my instincts so I wasn’t chasing after every animal I saw or shifting in the marketplace accidentally.” Geralt opens his mouth, most likely to list all the times Jaskier has done just that but it’s _different._ Gaining a pack has made Jaskier’s instincts grow rampant again and he’s working daily on reining them in so he's not chased by a mob and doesn't sit on his packmates until they decide they won’t leave their den. It’s so hard separating from the pack every year, his every instinct protesting, so when he saw Eskel, Kamil, Lambert, and Aiden in the spring and summer Jaskier’s elation got the better of him. 

Pinching his nose Jaskier elaborates, “Geralt, you will need to be trained in control so you don’t get killed. The only reason Marya and I didn’t insist that Kamil stay at the keep all year was because we knew that Eskel could look out for him. But you can’t take contracts if you’re going to get distracted in the middle of a fight when a squirrel climbs up a tree!” 

Geralt’s face grows shadowed as Jaskier explains why this is such a problem. Jaskier is itching to shift just so the blind panic he’s feeling can be dulled slightly but he needs to stay human to have this conversation. Instead, he presses himself to Geralt and desperately scents his mate to help grow calmer. Solid hands wrap around him. “We’ll track Yennefer down. See if she can reverse it.” 

Jaskier scowls. “She was about to portal her way across the Continent before reaching Kaer Morhen. Probably because she knew I would kill her otherwise.”

Geralt nods, taking it in stride like the calm rational irritating adult he is. “We’ll start heading to Kaer Morhen now then. You can help me control the shifts until we arrive.” All Jaskier can do is nod and breathe. He needs to keep his mate safe. Jaskier can start some basic training as they make their way to the keep. Geralt’s a hardened witcher who’s had to learn much more difficult skills. He can do this. 

Jaskier watches helplessly as his mate attempts to climb another tree. It’s been a week since they’ve begun their trek to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier is close to pulling his hair out. Was he this bad as a pup? Most likely considering some of the stories Marya has told the pack. Gods he wishes his mum were here right now. She would be doing such a better job than him. 

Stalking over to his idiotic mate, Jaskier grabs him by the scruff once again to drag him away. As he does so, Jaskier racks his brain on an alternate approach than what he’s currently trying. He thinks back to how Marya would promise him extra biscuits if Jaskier restrained himself from shifting when he wanted to. Hmm. He doesn’t have biscuits but there may be something better. Jaskier shifts to guide Geralt to shift back. It can be a struggle when your instincts are running wild. 

Once he succeeds, Geralt looks at Jaskier sheepishly. Jaskier sighs patiently, grasping his mate’s hands. “Geralt,” he calls, waiting until the witcher looks him in the eyes. “I will let you hunt every night _and_ will sacrifice my bottoming privileges if you don’t shift every time you have the urge to.” Geralt’s eyes darken. Jaskier smirks. Jackpot. 

**L+A**

Lambert hasn’t been overprotective lately so Aiden can shut the fuck up. And he certainly wasn’t panicking a few months ago when the Cat became a bloody pin cushion and Lambert wondered if Aiden would still be alive after he dealt with the bastards that dared harm him. Lambert is not fucking overprotective, okay?! So what if he insists on walking in front of the Cat and slips more daggers in his pillow than before? That’s just because the Cat’s too self-absorbed to fucking _pay attention_ to his fucking surroundings.

And he’s not being nicer to Aiden so the Cat can shut the fuck up about that too. Tracking down a second pillow is for the purely rational motive of not wanting to hear Aiden complain anymore about being stabbed in the middle of the night. And they’re staying in towns more frequently not because the dumb Cat likes his little luxuries but because it’s easier to restock on supplies that way. _Obviously._

So what if the overlapping sounds and smells of _humanity_ that permeate the air and burn Lambert’s nose and ears makes him long to bury himself in the dirt and never come up for air? They need supplies. So what if being surrounded by strangers that could be plotting any manner of conniving things makes Lambert twitchy and long to fiddle with one or two of his knives? It’s what you do when your companion is a complaining spoiled Cat. 

Lambert is practically attached to Aiden’s hip as they make their through a backwater village, eyes flicking in every direction to keep track of the various people milling about, twitching every time someone draws too close. And it’s because of his normal level of diligence that Lambert sees the ambush coming for them a mile away. Digging his fingers into Aiden’s arm, Lambert forces himself to maintain a steady pace as he counts how many people are closing in through the crowd. Aiden’s inquiring glance hardens from whatever minute emotion flashes across Lambert’s face. 

First step has gotta be to make their way outta town. Eskel’s Face of Disappointment when Lambert does something dumb like pick a fight in the middle of a marketsquare isn’t worth the convenience of dropping the gauntlet here and now. 

Once they’ve moved far enough away, finding themselves in an open field, Lambert discreetly unsheathes two of his daggers from where they hide in his arm guards. Before Lambert can make the first move, Aiden flashes a disarming smile around to the slouching men closing in. Now that they’re closer Lambert recognizes them. 

Aw, fuck. He knew he shoulda kept his mouth shut when that guy spit at Aiden’s feet. Douchebag was lucky Lambert didn’t punch his smarmy face in though. Eskel would be proud. 

Well, next time he hears that annoying voice that sounds too much like a conscience in his ear, Lambert is gonna disregard it because it landed him in _this_ mess. 

Opening his palms like the magnanimous asshole he is, Aiden drawls, “Now gentlemen, I’m sure we can come to an understanding, yes?” The same guy that spit in the tavern decides to repeat the dumb move, this time at Aiden’s face. 

Nope. Screw self-restraint. With a flick of his wrist Lambert shoots his dagger into the guy’s leg. What? He’s not planning on killing them all, Geralt’s idiotic stunt at Blaviken taught him real quick what a dumb move that’d be. He’s gonna just subdue the ones that are stupid enough to fight rather than run. Soon chaos ensues, and a whole fuckin’ mob descends on them. Sighing as he draws his sword Aiden mutters, “One day you’ll understand the definition of diplomacy.” 

“Bite me dickhead,” Lambert growls. 

“Only if you say please,” Aiden purrs with a flash of a wicked smile before he lunges in a blur of motion. Lambert gives himself a moment to admire the Cat before throwing himself into the fray. As he’s quickly overwhelmed by sheer numbers, Lambert vaguely considers that Aiden might have had a point. Not that he would ever give the asshole the pleasure of knowing that though. 

He’s spinning to swipe at a charging farmer with one hand while throwing a dagger in the opposite direction when Lambert feels the all too familiar feeling of being stabbed. Looking down, he notes with something close to exasperation the rusty dagger now sticking out of his side. Motherfucker. Lambert doesn’t have time to retaliate before he hears a snarl that can only be classified as bloodthirsty, noting with distant shock that it’s coming from the always affable and reasonable Cat. 

With speed and savagery Lambert has never witnessed in his entire cursed existence as a witcher, Aiden hacks and slashes his way through the crowd. A mixture of unease and possibly inappropriate arousal shoots through Lambert at the bloody grin and darkened eyes plastered on Aiden’s face. 

It’s almost like he’s deriving pleasure from the slaughter. ‘Cause there’s no other word for it: slaughter. Lambert is patting himself on the back for leading them to a field away from the rest of civilization. Otherwise this would be a Butcher of Blaviken thing all over again. 

Still could be if they don’t slip off before someone comes running towards the agonized cries of their townsfolk though. Lambert tries to find room in his blackened heart for pity but the burning in his side dulls his already low levels of empathy and tolerance for humans. Speaking of, it’s not like the wound has put him outta commission; Lambert has fought with much worse. 

But he can’t look away. Aiden’s like a one man army. Or like a one man butcher. Lambert faintly recalls the cautionary tales of Cat witchers, told to the trainees like ghost stories. Bloodlust, they called it. Lambert had scoffed at the old bastards, casting the stories aside as nothing more than wive’s tales. That was only reinforced when he met the mild-mannered Aiden. But now he’s realizing that he never _truly_ met him. 

Lambert swallows when the last peasant falls in a scattering of limbs. He can only stare at the Cat dripping blood from head to toe, yet still haloed by the soft light of the setting sun. The juxtaposition of the image hurts Lambert’s head. Shoulders hunched, rising and falling from exertion, Aiden has his back turned to Lambert. But he has the driving need to see the Cat’s expression now so with halting steps, Lambert maneuvers his way around the corpses to face Aiden. 

What he sees gives him pause. There’s a half-crazed fervor in those amber orbs and a steady trembling in his frame as Aiden blinks at Lambert without recognition, teeth bared in a snarl that could be described as a smile if one were being generous.

For a brief moment the Wolf wonders if he’s about to join the villagers on the ground when the glazed look melts away to one of horror and realization as Aiden blinks at Lambert and takes in the slaughter. Sword clattering to the ground, Aiden starts backing away with wide eyes before turning to run. 

Hell. Fucking. No. 

Ignoring the dagger that is _still lodged in his side_ thank you very much, Lambert chases after the nimble Cat before launching himself in the air to tackle him to the ground. Ignoring the blood they land in, Lambert pins Aiden down with a warning growl so they’re face to face. Lambert knows how fiercely Aiden can wrestle so Lambert’s that more surprised when the Cat sinks to the ground with a look of resignation instead, baring his throat like a man on the block. 

“You don’t get to drag me back every time I try to run away just to do the same to me,” Lambert snarls, fear and confusion overriding the observation that Aiden isn’t running anymore. 

“Do me a favor, kitten, and make it quick,” Aiden says and _fuck_ no witcher should ever sound that defeated, that broken. 

Lambert blinks. “The fuck you talking about?” he demands. 

Aiden stares up at Lambert, uncomprehendingly. “You just witnessed me massacre half a village,” Aiden says slowly, like Lambert is dumb, making him bristle. “You kill monsters. I’m just asking for a merciful killing.” 

Lambert shakes his head. “Maybe I got stabbed more than I thought ‘cause I coulda sworn I just hallucinated you informing me to _kill you_ because _you’re a monster.”_ At this point, confusion has been shoved into the corner to make way for pure blind panic. Gripping Aiden’s face Lambert leans so their foreheads are pressed together. “Fuck Aiden I’m not gonna kill you.” 

“Any witcher worth his salt would,” Aiden states blandly, resignation morphing into a challenge sparking in his eyes. And Lambert knows what Aiden is trying to do. He’s pulled it enough times himself. Trying to get a rise because physical pain is easier than emotional. Does Aiden really think Lambert’s gonna walk away or kill him? Fuck. How can he show Aiden he’s stuck with him? 

Well, one thing has worked for Aiden when he’s trying to convince Lambert how he feels in the past. Might as well try it the other way around. Dragging fingers through curly locks, Lambert draws Aiden into a feverish kiss, a desperate kiss, a plea to not leave. Lambert doesn’t think he could travel the Path alone again without the Cat’s wry humor, calming presence, and ability to take Lambert’s bullshit and simply respond with a smile instead of a fist. 

Aiden stiffens before melting into the embrace with what suspiciously sounds like a whimper. Relief crashes over Lambert like a tidal wave. Fuck. Biting at Aiden’s lip Lambert demands entrance, punishing Aiden for trying to flee and begging him to stay. Aiden responds in kind and the fear that had built up over the past few minutes slowly starts to fade.

Things might not be sunshine and fuckin’ roses but at least Aiden isn’t running. And now Lambert isn’t gonna let the Cat leave his side for the next fucking decade at least. 

Shit, is this how Aiden felt every time Lambert tried running off? Motherfucker. Guess he gets why the Cat hid his knives after Lambert’s 10th or 20th attempt. Still a dick move though.

 ****  
**C+E**

Ewa and Ciri are curled up together on a rug while Leon leans precariously back in his chair, staring broodily into the fire. Ciri is spending a night in Leon and Ewa’s cottage before the couple make their way to Kaer Morhen. Tonight was supposed to be a lighthearted farewell but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. “Wanna visit them?” Ewa finally asks. Turning to his sister, Leon raises a silent brow. “She knows,” Ewa explains. Leon grunts before rising, throwing on a loose overcoat before heading out into the evening. Wordlessly, the two women follow. 

Last winter Ewa told Ciri why she doesn’t talk about her parents. It came out after some revelations of Ciri’s own that Ewa tries not to spend too much time thinking about. But now that Ciri knows, Ewa feels more comfortable sharing this part of her life with her partner. A sword-calloused hand slips silently into Ewa’s own, and the half-elf squeezes it reassuringly. 

She knows that Ciri is burning with curiosity, especially given how silent Leon has been all day. Ciri is used to an energetic jokester who is constantly smiling. But if she’s going to be part of their family, Ciri will have to get used to the darker moods both twins sink into as well. It’s like Ewa said when she gave Ciri the necklace; she has a lot of rough patches.

Leon leads the small group out of the village and to a run down cottage that’s seen better days. Beside it are two beautiful flower beds and it’s there that Leon stops. Shoving his hands into his breeches Leon whispers, “Hey Ma. Hey Pa.” Nodding to Ciri he says, “This is Ciri, Ewa’s bosom buddy.” 

“Leon!” Ewa squeaks, scandalized, yet silently relieved at the ghost of a smile crossing her brother’s face. 

“Just wanted to say hi,” he murmurs, leaning down to caress a pair of flowers delicately with a gentle hand. 

A heavy silence falls over the trio. “Tell me about them?” Ciri offers. 

Leon smiles wanly. “They met during Beltane. Pa saw Ma dancing with flowers flowing through her hair, smiling with not a care in the world. He knew right then he wanted to marry her one day.” 

Ewa chimes in with a murmur, unwilling to break the hushed reverent atmosphere surrounding them. “Ma was alone, her whole family killed during the Cleansing. But you would never know that from the light she would spread in every room she entered. They both were like that. Just-bright and shining like the sun and moon.” 

At Ewa’s words something flickers across Ciri’s face that causes a drip of apprehension to trickle down her spine. Don’t do it starlight. “I’m sorry,” Ciri grits out, fists clenched and head bowed. 

Fuck. 

Leon releases a hoarse laugh. “It’s fine. Not like you killed them.” 

Please-

“No. But my family is the cause.” Fuck how can Ewa stop this? She moves to draw Ciri away from her brother who is staring at the witcher with burning curiosity but Ciri leaps across the flowerbed, circling so she continues to face Leon. Some invisible curtain seems to wash over Ciri, replacing the rambunctious daughter of wolves with a regal noble. “My full name is Cirilla Fiona Ellen Rionan. I am the granddaughter of Queen Calanthe of Cintra.” 

From one blink to the next Leon launches himself across the flowers, shoving Ciri against the cottage and pinning her with his knife. Ciri reacts quickly however, and brandishes Ewa’s gift in a mirrored gesture. Ewa’s heart shatters like overheated glass. No. When she forged that necklace and added the safety measures Ewa never would have imagined it would lead to this. To her creation being used against her own brother. “Leon,” Ewa says weakly as she carefully steps around the flowers. “Please-don’t do this.” 

Amber eyes identical to her own flicker at Ewa, blazing, but not with fury. She could take that. Instead betrayal and pain twist his face and lie deep in his eyes. “Did you know?” he rasps out, voice creaking like rusted metal. Ewa glances at Ciri who’s wearing a blank mask she can’t see past. Taking a breath, all Ewa can do is nod. 

Ciri slowly retracts her weapon before falling to her knees. Looking up to Leon with solemnity she states, “Blood for blood, right?” 

Ewa shakes her head fiercely. No, it can’t end like this. It wasn’t even Calanthe’s people who killed their parents. _But her propaganda and cleansing forged the flames_ an insidious voice reminds her. Pushing that thought away viciously, Ewa moves to touch her brother but he flinches away. 

“Please,” she begs brokenly. “Don’t.” 

“It’s what she deserves,” Leon hisses, grabbing Ciri’s hair to drag her head back against his dagger.

Ewa’s mind races, desperate for a way to stop this nightmare. “You’ll have a pack of witchers and shifters after you,” Ewa rushes out in a final bid for him to see reason. “They’ll hunt you to the ends of the Continent.” 

Leon whirls around to her, eyes wild and dagger clenched in a white-knuckled grip. “I don’t fucking care!” he shouts, waving his knife. “She killed our fucking family! She killed our fucking _race!”_ Turning back to Ciri Leon crouches down and lifts up her bowed face, placing the knife where a red line has begun to appear. “It’s what she deserves,” he whispers darkly. 

What’s nearly more terrifying than seeing her brother lose control like this is witnessing Ciri do nothing to defend herself. Leon isn’t a trained fighter; she could take him easily. But she’s not. Throat closing up like she’s being choked Ewa gasps out, “She was just a child! She was our fucking age! Ciri had no hand in it!” But nothing she says gets through to him. 

“Blood for blood,” Leon states grimly, not taking his eyes off of Ciri. 

Ewa has fallen to her knees at this point, torn between watching the love of her life be killed at the hands of her brother or betraying and attacking her grief-maddened twin. Her world slowly shatters apart when Ciri raises her gaze to stare at Ewa. “I love you E,” she murmurs, gaze filled with regret. “Tell them it was a monster attack so they don’t come after him.” 

Too cowardly to watch her star’s light be snuffed out, Ewa curls up into a ball and buries her head in her arms with a sob. But time passes and no sound comes. No shout of pain, no sickening squelch of organs being pierced. Fearfully, Ewa lifts her head to see Leon slumped on his knees, head bowed and dagger dangling loosely from his fingers. And Ciri still breathing. 

Oh thank the gods. 

Ewa rushes over to the pair, but again when she reaches for Leon he flinches away like her touch burns. Swallowing the agony of her twin drawing away from her, Ewa scoops up Ciri who is trembling and weeping softly. 

“Stay away from me. Both of you,” Leon rasps listlessly, voice deprived of all emotion and gaze lost somewhere far from here. He looks like an utterly broken man, and the guilt Ewa feels for her role in his current torment floods through her like a tidal wave. She fears she will crumple under the pressure of it all but Ciri needs her right now. And though it feels like tearing her heart in two, Ewa will honor her brother’s wishes. It’s the least she can do. They'll pack up quickly and ride on to Kaer Morhen. There Ciri will be safe, and she won’t see Ewa again. Ewa will make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leon. What the fuck. That's not what we had planned. Whoops? Somehow that darn angst always finds its way into my longer fics.
> 
> I tried finding a romantic poem about loving every part of someone and couldn’t find anything that seemed to fit, so this was my crappy attempt to sum up Kamil’s feelings for Eskel. 
> 
> The song in Vesemir and Marya’s passage is called “Fair” by Joey Batey’s band The Amazing Devil. Go and listen to it and tell me it doesn’t perfectly sum up the relationship of these two old souls. 
> 
> Part of me really wanted to continue Lambert and Aiden’s story in this and last chapter but it would kinda mess with the whole setup I have for this fic. Let me know if you would like a fill in story that covers what happens post chapter 3 and post chapter 4!


	5. Winter: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is more dramatic than the characters in a soap opera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *heaves out a heavy sigh*
> 
> FINE whoever collected bets on whether or not I would stick to my chapter count, hand everyone their winnings. I HONESTLY THOUGHT I DID IT. One chapter per season, right?? But noooo these fuckers had to get all dramatic and shit and now they messed up my plans! 
> 
> *screams into the abyss*  
> I GIVE UP. I GIVE UP ON CHAPTER COUNTS.

**G+J**

“YENNEFER!” Jaskier bellows as he storms into the keep. Geralt trails behind the irate shifter, lips twitching. This should be entertaining. Eskel and Kamil’s heads pop up from where the witcher is showing the hunter how to hold a sword. When he spots them, Geralt finds his control slipping and before he fully realizes what he’s doing, he’s bounding over to his brother to tackle Eskel joyfully. 

Fuck.

Eskel scrambles to drop his sword as he falls to the ground under a giant witcher-wolf who eagerly licks his face. Geralt growls to himself as he realizes that his tail is wagging too. Damn shifter instincts. 

“Um. Geralt??” a muffled voice asks.

“Feeling rather wolfy than usual witcher?” Yennefer drawls as she strolls up to the pair. Despite the massive wolf now growling at her, the sorceress doesn’t look fazed. This holds true even when a snarling shifter stalks over to her, jabbing Yennefer in the chest with a finger. The fact that he doesn't subsequently turn into a pile of dust reveals how much Yennefer secretly likes him. 

“Why, how, and _change him back,”_ Jaskier growls. 

Delicately removing his finger from where it's planted on her chest, Yennefer raises an unimpressed brow. “Got something on your mind bard?” Yennefer drawls. Geralt idly wonders from where he’s smothering Eskel if he should restrain his mate before Jaskier tries to claw out the sorceress’ eyes.

“The fuck is goin’ on here?” Lambert demands, half-eaten biscuit in his hand as he stomps out of the dining hall. Despite his latest attempts at restraining himself, Geralt finds himself charging the most prickly witcher which, considering how prickly he is, probably isn’t the best idea. Shockingly, it’s Aiden who stops Lambert from stabbing Geralt before he can swerve out of the way. The Cat grabs Lambert’s hand, twisting his arm away from the coming wolf. Less than a second later Geralt plows into them both, and all three witchers and the biscuit go sprawling.

“What the fuck Aiden?” Lambert snarls, trying to escape from under Geralt as the witcher-wolf shakes his head. 

A moment later Jaskier is dragging Geralt off of his wheezing brother. “Thank you for saving my idiotic mate Aiden,” Jaskier sighs, neatly dodging Geralt’s teeth as he goes to bite his rude mate. 

Lambert blinks up at them. “What the fuck Songbird? We saw you gits at the end of spring. What kinda shit could you get into between then and now?”

“Have you _met_ them?” Eskel asks, walking up to clap Jaskier on the shoulder and eye Geralt curiously. 

Geralt growls at his brother, whining when Jaskier tugs at his scruff in reprimand. “Great question Lambert,” Jaskier says with fake cheer. “Why don’t you ask the she-demon over there?!” he suggests through gritted teeth. 

As one, they all turn to look at Yennefer who is busy studying her nails. 

Flicking her gaze up at the group of curious witchers and shifters Yennefer croons, “Jaskier, you come up with the most darling nicknames for me.” Jaskier simply growls at her which, hey, if Geralt couldn’t growl at Eskel is just a double fucking standard. Getting tired of the stand off, Geralt centers himself, finding that path back to two feet he and Jaskier have practiced for weeks. 

A moment after he’s shifted back a tunic is thrown at his face. Grabbing it with his hand, Geralt growls at the smug look on his mate. “I feel so vindicated right now,” Jaskier smirks, eyeing Geralt appreciatively. 

"You owe me a fucking biscuit asshole," Lambert cuts in.

Tugging on the tunic Eskel had thrown at him, Geralt glowers at his brothers and Yennefer who are all shooting him shit-eating grins. “I hate this family,” he growls, stalking off to search for Marya’s biscuits and a drink. He’ll need both to get through tonight. 

*******

“So instead of curing him you decide to just push him the final step to being a shifter for, what? Shits and giggles?” Lambert asks, swallowing a gulp of moonshine later that night. 

“More or less,” Yennefer shrugs. 

Almost the entire pack is seated around the table, Jaskier and Marya glaring at Yennefer while the rest watch on with bemusement. “You had no right to meddle in such magics girl,” Marya growls, shrugging off Vesemir’s steadying hand. 

“And your son’s mate had no right in meddling with the magic of a djinn, and yet here we are,” Yennefer simpers, batting her eyelashes. Now every head turns to Geralt, making him gulp.

Patting the witcher’s hand consolingly, Jaskier surveys the room. “Yes my dear pack, 'tis true. Your idiotic and sleep-deprived packmate thought it would be a jolly good idea to summon a fucking djinn to wish for sleep instead of, I don’t know, propositioning the bard practically throwing himself at him.” 

“You had just went through a break up,” Geralt grits out. 

Jaskier face palms. “I was trying to make you jealous and cut ties with the lovely countess when I realized you were too _thick-headed_ to catch a fucking clue,” Jaskier groans. 

Rising, Vesemir stomps over to the duo to cuff Geralt upside the head. “You know better than to mess with magics beyond your understanding, boy.” 

Turning to Yennefer, Jaskier throws up his hands. “So, what? This is revenge over a decade in the making?” Honestly, Yennefer would, he reflects. 

Yennefer shrugs. “Not particularly- I do have a life after all. I simply seized the opportunity that fell into my lap.” 

“Can you reverse it?” Eskel asks from where he’s idly playing with Kamil’s hair. Those two make such a cute pair Jaskier is tempted to melt from adoration but he’s too angry to allow himself to just yet. 

“There is no record of humans being turned into shifters. The first of our kind were wolves, and their children carried the magic in their blood,” Marya explains grimly. 

Shrugging carelessly, Yennefer rises. “I’ll see what can be done tomorrow but for now, I need my beauty sleep.” 

“You’ll need to sleep all winter then you ugly hag,” Jaskier mutters under his breath. Now he’s the one cuffed, which doesn’t seem fair. He glowers mulishly into his wine before snagging Geralt’s moonshine and chugging that instead, needing something heavier. Gasping, Jaskier coughs as he feels like his throat is shriveling up into a husk. “Gods. Damn you. Lambert,” Jaskier chokes out while the witcher chortles. 

Needing something to wash the burn away, Jaskier grabs what he thinks is water but upon throwing it back realizes is his wine. Well, he’ll be feeling that later. “You know what you could use Jaskier?” Geralt says in a conspiratorial whisper. “A good petting session.” 

Jaskier shoots his lovely mate a wan smile. He knows Jaskier so well. Being in shifted form will help dull some of Jaskier’s anger and getting a good rub down will make it fully disappear. “Brilliant idea my love.” As Jaskier shifts and trots out of the hall towards the pack room, he finds himself stumbling a bit as the alcohol starts to hit. Oh. Oh that sneaky bastard. Ever since Jaskier made the simple mistake of shifting while he was drunk, the witcher hasn’t let him live it down. Of course he wanted the whole keep to be witness to his drunken fumbling. Jaskier turns to glare at his mate who is attempting not to laugh at him. While part of him is tempted to chew Geralt out, the other part of Jaskier really wants those cuddles and pets. So, after a warning growl, Jaskier trips his way into the pack room.

The moment he enters the room Jaskier is hit with the scent of _mum_ and _home_ and _pack._ With a gleeful yip, Jaskier runs and leaps onto a rug that wasn’t there last winter, rolling around to soak up the smell. A moment later he’s joined by a gray wolf and fox who plop down beside him. _Mate! Cousin!_ Jaskier rumbles happily, rubbing his head insistently against their heads. He has the sudden urge to gnaw cheerfully on Geralt’s ear and his lovely mate endures the gesture with a huff and pulse of warmth. 

_Pup_ Marya nudges him humorously as she joins them.

_Mama!_ Jaskier croons, rubbing his head under her neck before flipping onto his back with a lupine grin. Affection and humor are sent to him in pulses and Jaskier wiggles in response. 

Rolling back upright with a shake of his head, Jaskier realizes that he _never greeted the rest of his pack properly._ Jumping to his feet unsteadily, Jaskier bounds over to Eskel first, throwing his paws over the witcher’s shoulders to give him a long lick. When Eskel ruffles his coat fondly, Jaskier rumbles affectionately, nuzzling the crook of his neck. 

As he turns to Lambert, the youngest witcher holds his hands up. “I am not getting your slobber all over me Songbird,” Lambert proclaims, swiftly hiding behind an amused Aiden. With a wag, Jaskier backs up before charging the pair and leaping. Once they all crash to the ground, Jaskier gleefully licks both witchers, Aiden taking it with dignity while Lambert sputters and flails. 

With a low rumble Jaskier rubs his head under their necks before relaxing, sprawled across both men. Hm. Getting sleepy. With nearly his entire pack back, the brimming itch of being incomplete that he felt all year begins to ease. Now he just needs his pup and her mate and Jaskier will finally be able to relax. And with that final thought, Jaskier drifts off. 

****  
**C+E**

Ciri enters the keep with her head low, Ewa trailing behind her. They hardly talked during their journey from Aedirn, too lost in the grief of their encounter with Leon. She’s trying to put on a brave face for the pack, not wanting her baggage to carry into the winter. But the moment she sees Geralt and Jaskier, Ciri’s will crumbles. 

Jaskier, astute as ever, shifts before running towards her, whining worriedly as he stands on his hind legs and rubs his head against the crook of her neck. All at once, Ciri’s composure collapses and she falls to the ground with a sob, wrapping her arms around her father. “I fucked up Jas,” she cries, burying her face into his fur. Whining, Jaskier licks her face gently, wiping away her tears just like he did the first night they met. Ciri jolts when Jaskier growls however. 

Blinking up, Ciri turns to where Jaskier is growling and her heart shatters all over again. Ewa has started to walk away, shoulders hunched and head bowed. “So this is it?” Ciri asks, voice cracking. 

Ewa turns, expression shuttered. “It’s for the best Starlight.” Ciri opens her mouth, to argue, beg, cry out, she doesn’t fucking know. But she’s cut off by a growled voice from behind her. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ciri shrinks at Geralt’s glower, but it’s not aimed at her. 

Ewa straightens, expression hardening. “I’m doing what’s best for your daughter.” 

“And what’s that?” Geralt scoffs. “Breaking her heart?” 

Stalking up to him with brimming fury Ewa snarls, “Last winter you woulda paid anything to have me jump off the fucking mountain.” Ewa’s eyes flash in the sunlight, fists clenched and hair blowing in the breeze, looking like a warrior goddess. 

Geralt rumbles lowly, looming over her but Ewa doesn't look cowed at all. “I was testing you to see if you would treat my daughter right.” 

Throwing up her arms Ewa exclaims, “Well looks like you got your wish ‘cause I fucking failed your bloody test! So please excuse me as I move on with my life before you decide to run me through with your bloody sword!” Ciri has never seen Ewa lose her composure like this, and a fresh stab of guilt spreads through her chest. Ewa turns to storm away and Ciri can only watch on helplessly. If this is what Ewa wants, Ciri won't stop her.

The half-elf _is_ stopped however by teeth snagging her tunic. Without turning around Ewa growls lowly, “Let go of me wolf.” 

Her request is obeyed, but only so Jaskier can shift. Slipping on the tunic that is thrown at him, Jaskier grabs Ewa by the shoulder and spins her around. Placing both palms on her shoulders Jaskier says firmly, “If you want to go we won’t stop you. But you are in no state to travel on your own right now.” Kind eyes flick over to Ciri. “What happened?” Crumpling, Ciri tells the tale of her shame. 

Ewa stands with her arms wrapped protectively around herself, shoulders hunched as Ciri reports what happened. She's half-prepared to fight for her life once the witcher and shifter learn what her brother tried doing. Ewa is that more surprised then, when she finds herself swept into a hug. “I’m so sorry my pup,” Jaskier whispers in her ear. “If you agree to remain here for just a little while, I promise to fix this.” 

Drawing away, Ewa looks at the shifter pleadingly. “Please,” she begs. “Don’t kill him.” 

Jaskier looks at her with a mournful smile, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her wild eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it my dear. Do you trust me?” Ewa’s mind flashes to last winter. The late nights Jaskier spent regaling her with outlandish tales, the times he hugged her close when she snapped or withdrew, the bright smiles and gentle touches he showered indiscriminately upon the entire pack, including Ewa, without hesitation. Slowly, Ewa nods. Jaskier pulls her into another hug, tighter this time. “Thank you Ewa. I promise, you will have your brother back, it may just take time.” And with a smile to Geralt who simply nods back, Jaskier shifts and lopes out of the keep. 

Ewa stands frozen, staring blankly at Geralt. Fuck. Now what? Nodding his head toward the dining hall Geralt grunts, “Marya hid some biscuits for when you two arrived. Not even Lambert could find them.” Despite herself, Ewa finds a cracked smile flickering across her face. Turning to Ciri whose expression is utterly desolate, Ewa takes two tentative steps forward before reaching her hand down. Accepting the offering, Ciri draws herself up slowly. The two women stare at each other speechlessly. 

Ewa isn’t sure who moves first, but soon they’re in a tight embrace, faces buried in each other’s shoulders. “Please E,” Ciri sobs. “I can’t lose you too.” Ewa closes her eyes as she feels a tear slide down her cheek. Can't she see Ewa is doing this for Ciri? Ewa is toxic, poison. How can Ciri look at her without seeing an image of Ewa’s brother holding a knife to the witcher’s throat? But Ewa doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to try walking away a second time. 

Taking a shaky breath, she murmurs, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll allow me.” 

Arms tightening around her, Ciri says fiercely, “Then I’ll never want you to leave.” Time halts for a brief moment as Ewa’s breath catches in her throat. Ciri can’t mean that. She’s still grief-stricken and scared. 

Instead of responding, Ewa draws back, placing a soft kiss to Ciri’s cheek. “Let’s find those biscuits,” she says with a weak smile, clasping Ciri’s hand in her own. 

Ciri looks at Ewa with an unreadable expression before nodding slowly. “Whatever you say E,” she says dully. 

****

**E+K**

Kamil eyes the scary looking sorceress warily who is staring at him with far too much interest for his taste. The only reason he hasn’t slunk off yet is because Eskel has a warm arm wrapped around him and being curled up next to the witcher is Kamil’s favorite place to be. Besides, the death glare Eskel is shooting the sorceress is quite reassuring.

“Little fox,” the sorceress purrs, making Eskel’s grip tighten. Cocking her head she muses, “That’s not the only interesting thing about you, no.” As the sorceress- Yennefer Kamil recalls- saunters over to them, Kamil shrinks against Eskel, who draws him to his side impossibly close, baring his teeth at her. When she tilts Kamil’s chin up Eskel releases a low growl. Shooting him a withering glance, Yennefer returns her full attention to Kamil, which, no thank you. Humming, Yennefer nods before stepping back. “I was born into a body that I hated as well," she remarks casually.

Kamil's heart stops, familiar panic and shame consuming him. But he won't be cowed by this woman. Subtly pressing closer to Eskel, Kamil pointedly sweeps his gaze skeptically over the flawless skin, silky hair, and body as lithe as a dancer’s. Releasing a tittering laugh, Yennefer remarks, “I wasn’t gifted with _this_ body,” dragging her hands down the skin tight midnight blue gown that reveals far too much skin to be comfortable in the approaching winter months. 

Shaking his head slowly Kamil says guardedly, “I don’t understand.” 

Sighing like he’s a particularly dense student Yennefer explains, “Part of becoming a mage involves a transformation into the person you envision yourself to be." A hungry smile crosses her lips as she croons, "How do you envision yourself? I can make it happen.” Hope and apprehension curl within Kamil’s chest. Of course he’s spent countless nights imagining who he wishes himself to be compared to who he is. He thinks about the reduction of his breath when he leaves his bindings on too long. He thinks about the revulsion he often feels when staring in the mirror. He thinks about the possibility of being in the body he was meant to have.

Kamil's answer is on his tongue when Eskel cuts in with a snarl. “This coming from the sorceress who cursed my brother for fun when he came to her for help." Wrapping his other arm around Kamil so the shifter is fully sheltered by the witcher, Eskel hisses, “You’re not touching him.” 

Fondness for this protective creature blooms through his chest and Kamil presses a grateful kiss to Eskel’s cheek. “Thank you for looking out for me my love, but it’s my choice,” Kamil says gently. 

Golden eyes that shine like the sun stare at him beseechingly. “I can’t lose you,” Eskel rasps. “You know I love you as you are.” 

Kamil’s heart inexplicably breaks and surges with all-consuming love simultaneously and, overcome, he guides Eskel into a gentle kiss, pouring his adoration into every press of his lips. 

“I understand why you wouldn’t trust me after what I did to Geralt,” Yennefer sighs. “But that was a long time coming for the fool’s past mistakes.” Violet eyes pierce Kamil. “You deserve the body you were meant to be born into. The choice is yours.” 

All of her playfulness and flippancy have made way for solemnity and sincerity. Kamil swallows. “Please.” 

*******

Eskel paces outside the infirmary after being barred from entering because apparently his “boorish fretting will be too distracting.” After spending the day collecting the necessary herbs and creating pain-numbing salves under Marya’s critical gaze, Yennefer locked herself, Kamil, and Marya in the infirmary. Though Marya is not a mage, she has centuries of healing experience and expertise that may prove beneficial. Plus knowing the shifter is keeping an eye on the witch, especially considering how low in Marya’s esteem Yennefer currently is, makes Eskel feel slightly reassured. Slightly. Infinitesimally. Just barely. 

“You’re gonna wear the floor down at this point,” Vesemir’s gruff voice sounds from behind him. 

Turning to pace in the opposite direction for the upteenth time, Eskel glances up at his former instructor. “I’ll fix it this winter,” he grits out before turning once again. A weathered hand grasps Eskel's shoulder and though he could probably pull out of the grip Eskel stops his movement and slumps. “He would have resented me forever but a large part of me wanted to grab him and run,” Eskel mumbles. 

Rounding so they’re face to face, Vesemir nods. “Aye, that’s a natural instinct when you’re in love.” 

Flicking his eyes up at the older witcher, Eskel shoots him a fleeting smile. “Look at us. Two witchers talking about love. What would all those old coots say?” 

Vesemir barks out a laugh. “They would think we had lost our marbles, no doubt.” Cuffing Eskel’s chin, Vesemir nods down the hallway. “Lingering here will just make that worry brew. You trust Marya. But I don’t trust Lambert to sort our provisions on his own. He’ll probably use them to invent a new kinda bomb.” 

A genuine smile crosses Eskel’s face this time and he starts to make his way down the hall. “I don’t know, he’s got a Cat keeping an eye on him now.” Vesemir just grunts, falling beside him. It’s taking all of them some time to warm up to Aiden, not just because he’s a Cat but also because Lambert’s the runt of the pack. Aiden’s taken it in stride and for that Eskel has grown some respect for him. Though the fact that he loves Lambert just proves how insane Cats really are. 

Yeah, now that Eskel thinks about it, they could probably both use some supervision before the keep blows. 

****

**L+A**

“Kitten, you’re gonna cut off your fingers and I _like_ your fingers,” Aiden remarks as he watches the love of his life prepare to attempt his latest idiotic idea.

“No no no I’ve been practicing,” Lambert protests as he readies to throw three of his prized daggers into the air. Aiden sighs. While usually Lambert’s response to feeling anxious or uncertain is to be an asshole or run away, he’s demonstrating a new side today: manic energy. Word spread fast about the drama with Ciri and Ewa. The couple haven’t been seen since they arrived and Jaskier ran out. 

Aiden knows that Lambert holds a deep affection for these people and has a special place in his heart for Jaskier and Ciri. Feeling helpless is never a good feeling. So, juggling knives. This is better than Lambert’s earlier attempts to walk across a crumbling parapet like a fucking trapeze artist at least. Aiden halted that one in its tracks very quickly. It’s a wonder what a hand squeezing behind Lambert’s neck and a soft kiss will do for the ornery witcher. 

Aiden is considering his mode of attack for this current situation when he hears Ciri behind him. “Lambert, are you _juggling knives?”_ At Ciri’s incredulous and raspy voice, Lambert fumbles a toss and scrambles to avoid being stabbed. 

Aiden rubs his face tiredly. “Unfortunately, yes,” he mutters. 

A watery smile spreads across Ciri’s face. “You’re a dumbass Lambert,” Ciri teases. 

Crossing his arms, the Wolf glowers. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you can’t do it,” he huffs. 

Rolling her eyes Ciri walks up to Lambert. “Didn’t look like you were having too much success yourself.” Before Lambert can fire off a retort, Ciri wraps her arms around him and presses her face against his chest. Freezing, Lambert looks up at Aiden helplessly. When Aiden simply gestures at the girl encouragingly, Lambert tentatively returns the hug, squeezing lightly. With a smile, Aiden turns away. He’ll leave them to it. Besides, Ciri can probably keep Lambert in check better than Aiden can. Those puppy dog eyes are lethal. 

Lambert’s useless brain is scrambling about what to do. The little squirt has him in a bone crushing hug and he’s pretty sure those are sobs not hiccups and _what does Lambert do_ and why did Aiden leave him?? The Cat has a talent with words and emotions and shit, not Lambert! What does he say? There there? No definitely not that. Tell me how you feel? Bad idea that’ll lead to more talking. Wanna go smash things? 

Huh. That one might work. 

Placing a quick peck on Ciri’s head when he determines that there are no witnesses to see him, Lambert murmurs in her hair, “Come with me, squirt, I got something to show ya.” Lambert scrounges up some empty bottles from his latest moonshine experiments before lining them up on a rampart and tumbling down to the waiting kid. Then he pulls out a bomb from his bomb bag. Placing one in Ciri’s hand with a grin Lambert says, “Whoever smashes the most bottles gets first go at holding Dandelion tonight." 

Ciri smirks. “Challenge accepted.” As Lambert attempts increasingly more elaborate throws, he fails to notice the grinning Cat and Wolf watching from across the courtyard, too busy trying to get a smile from the squirt. Relief washes through him the first time Ciri laughs after Lambert attempts a throw that involves a flip and somersault that ends with a bomb literally blowing in his face. Despite the slightly charred hair Lambert grins victoriously. Yeah, Aiden and his flowery words can shove it.

**V+M**

Vesemir finds Ewa in the library curled up in a chair and reading a book on the Cleansing. Humming, Vesemir scans the shelves before pulling out a text on smithing. Settling in a chair across from the half-elf without a word, Vesemir starts reading. It’s not for another half hour before Vesemir speaks. “I can’t seem to understand the difference between cast and wrought iron,” he grumbles. 

Without looking up from her text Ewa snorts. “It’s fucking obvious.” Glancing up from his book Vesemir quirks a brow, waiting patiently for Ewa to flick her gaze up. Sighing as though Vesemir is causing her great trouble Ewa explains with forced patience, “Cast iron is iron that has been melted, poured into a mold, and allowed to cool. Wrought iron is iron that has been heated and worked with tools. Obviously.” 

Vesemir nods amiably. “Obviously,” he echoes. 

Ewa looks at him warily, skepticism in the twist of her lips. “Have a sudden interest in learning how to smith, do you?”

Vesemir smiles benignly. Ciri picked a sharp one. “An old dog can learn new tricks I hope.” 

Huffing a breath Ewa mutters, “Won’t learn anything from a dusty old tome. Especially if you can’t tell the difference between cast and wrought iron.” 

Vesemir hums. “You’re right. I could use a more hands on approach I suppose.” He makes sure to stay casual, nonchalant. Vesemir spent several years coaxing a young Lambert down from various parapets he climbed up on to hide from the other trainers. He can manage a grief-stricken elf. 

Ewa eyes him dubiously. “You really wanna learn?”

Vesemir shoots her a genuine smile. “I thought Marya may want a new dagger or perhaps a necklace.” For some reason, Ewa’s face grows shadowed at the mention of a necklace. Vesemir thinks back to that chain dangling from Ciri’s neck while she and Lambert made a mess of his courtyard. He wonders what the story behind it is. “Marya and I brought up more materials you can work with this winter,” Vesemir remarks casually, glancing around the room. 

A long pause follows this pronouncement. “Guess I could show you the ropes,” Ewa says begrudgingly, her tone belied by the spark of light in her eyes. For the first time since Vesemir entered, he sees a shadow of the blacksmith’s usual self. “You can’t be worse than Geralt anyway,” she adds, placing the book reverently down in her chair before stomping out of the library. Vesemir allows himself a small smile. Hopefully guiding Vesemir through the process will help keep Ewa’s mind off of the current darkness haunting her.

Marya holds Kamil’s hand as she watches Yennefer mix some herbs into paste. She may not possess magic but she’ll be damned if she leaves these two alone. The first sign of danger and she’s sweeping the pup out of here. “Your glare is quite distracting you know,” Yennefer remarks lightly.

“Too bad,” Marya grunts. Marya had been warming up to Yennefer the past few times she visited but causing Geralt to turn into a shifter has put the witch in her bad books. It shouldn’t have been possible, first of all. And the fact that Yennefer managed to do it on a whim makes Marya shudder. How much power does this woman truly possess? So the witch’s wish to help Kamil presumably out of the goodness of her heart causes Marya’s hackles to rise. There must be an underlying motive. 

“I was born with a twisted spine and partial face paralysis,” Yennefer murmurs, not taking her eyes off of the paste she’s creating. “I was in constant pain and was treated worse than a mangy dog.” When Yennefer flicks her gaze up, Marya stares into depthless violet eyes. “I know what it’s like to look in the mirror and hate what you see. I just want to help him.” 

Squeezing the unconscious lad's hand Marya’s scowl softens. “How confident are you that no harm will come to him?” 

Swaying towards the pair of shifters Yennefer whispers, “I swear on my magic.” 

Marya’s eyebrows rise before she nods. “Proceed.” 

****  
**L**

“Can I help you?” Leon grunts, ears pricking at the sound of footsteps as he works to mold a stubborn piece of metal.

“Yes. Are you Leon? Ewa’s brother?” Leon stiffens, a fresh wave of grief and hurt washing over him. How could she keep it from him? Regardless of the princess’ hand in the Cleansing he had a right to know who he was breaking bread with, who he was opening his home to. 

Turning to eye the man standing in the doorway, Leon crosses his arms warily. “Who’s asking?” Taking in the chestnut-haired man wearing clothing about two sizes too big, he raises a brow. “No shoes no service. Don’t want to hear you whining when you get a hole in your foot.” 

Instead of looking sheepish the man laughs, stuffing his hands into the loose breeches and strolling in. “You’re definitely her brother.” 

Leon grits his teeth, reminding himself that business is business. “What can I do for you sir?” he asks with forced politeness. 

“Hmm but not as good at hiding your emotions I see.” 

Leon slams his bending fork and anvil down, stalking up to the irritating man. “Tell me what you want made or get the fuck out of my shop,” he seethes. 

The man doesn’t even flinch, simply peering up at him benignly. “Someone close to my heart was once hurt and in pain and I was the closest and easiest target to take it out on. I believe a similar incident occurred between you and my daughter.” 

Leon takes in the man’s ill-fitting clothing and lack of shoes with new eyes as Ewa’s warning echoes in his head. “You here to kill me?” He asks with a sigh of resignation. 

Something flickers in the man’s eyes before he smiles sadly. “No Leon, I’m here to offer the same thing I offered the last person I knew who took his anger and hurt out on an unwilling target: a pack.” 

What? Leon flinches as this stranger strokes a thumb across his cheek, cradling his face with a calloused palm. “No one should be without a pack,” the man murmurs, blue eyes beseeching and earnest. 

Leon takes a careful step back. “I tried killing your daughter.” Clearly this man knows but Leon thinks it bears repeating.

The stranger snorts. “What, does that make you special?” When Leon is no closer to acquiescing the man sighs. “I understand why you feel betrayed by them keeping it from you-you deserved to know. But if it makes you feel better, Ewa didn’t learn until last winter.” 

No, that doesn’t fucking help! Leon starts pacing, confusion and pain twisting in his chest. “How could she remain with that woman knowing what she is?!” he exclaims, fists clenching and itching for something to mold. 

The man hums, gaze flicking around the shop. “Perhaps she deems a person’s actions more important than their blood.” His words stop Leon in his tracks, tension still thrumming through his frame. Despite the clear warning signs to stay away, this strange man takes another step closer. “We don’t choose what we’re born into Leon,” he says gently, head bowed. “What defines us is how we choose to act in response to it. And Ciri has dedicated her livelihood to protecting those who cannot protect themselves.” Tilting his head up at Leon he muses, “Could it be Ciri was afraid to tell you for fear of losing a brother?” 

For the first time since this shit storm started, Leon feels a trickle of guilt drop in the well of anger and pain filling his core. But he doubles down, crossing his arms protectively. “I can’t hide my fucking ears so she shouldn’t have hidden this.” 

To his surprise, the man nods. “You might be right. But the past is past. And Ewa and Ciri are torn up with guilt and shame and despair over how things ended with you. I’m not commanding you-I’m asking. Come to them so you can reconcile. It can take all winter if need be. But I don’t want you to be alone.” 

Leon snarls, confused anger sparking in his chest. Looming over the man he hisses, “Why the fuck do you care so much? I’m a fucking stranger to you!” 

The man looks at him, smiling wryly and still not intimidated. “Would you like me to say it’s for selfish reasons and their misery is stinking up the keep? Or do you want me to be honest and say that I know how crippling loneliness is, especially after a relationship fractures, and I don’t want that for you?” 

“You don’t even know me!” Leon shouts, gripping the back of his neck to keep from punching something out of helpless fury. 

The man nods and Leon is getting really sick of him doing that. “True, but I would like to start.” Then he offers up a hand. “Nice to meet you Leon. My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you may know me better as Jaskier the Bard.” 

Leon’s mouth gapes open. He’s heard this man’s music-who hasn’t? But when the princess threw that name out he didn’t realize she meant _that_ Jaskier. He’s realizing more and more that he doesn’t know her as well as he thought. 

Leon eyes the hand warily before clasping it with his own. The smile on the bard’s face in response shouldn’t be so big nor so bright. Crossing his arms Leon grunts, “Not gonna go to a keep full of protective witchers and shifters. Don’t have a fucking death wish.” Leon curses himself. He realizes that he didn’t say he doesn’t wish to go, just that it’s not safe for him. He opens his mouth to correct himself when Jaskier puts a hand on his heart and speaks with a sincerity Leon has never heard before. 

“I swear on my honor as a bard and shifter, on my love for my mate and daughter, no harm shall come to you.” His eyes are solemn and earnest as he speaks. Despite himself, Leon finds his resistance crumbling. But he’s not gonna go down easily. 

“I have my shop here. Need the coin.” 

“We have a smith shop at the keep,” Jaskier rebuts smoothly. “I assume you’ve already received your orders for the winter?” 

Leon grits his teeth. “I’m not staying all winter.” 

Jaskier simply grins. “Of course not Leon,” he says warmly.

“And you better fucking return those clothes from whatever poor sap you stole them from.” 

Jaskier nods. “Naturally.” 

Leon’s fists clench. “I need time to finalize orders and spread word I’ll be out of town for a bit.” 

There’s that damn smile again, so bright, so genuine. “Take all the time you need.” 

Finding no other protests he can make, Leon takes a slow breath through his nose. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to see Ewa and the princess again but he also knows that he won’t be able to sleep well without hugging his sister. Fuck. He might need to plan for a longer trip. 


	6. Winter: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier returns with a new arrival in tow. Everyone has a lot of emotions. Vesemir is the Uncle Iroh of the pack. None of this is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *face palms* Don’t say it. Just-don’t say it. Next chapter should be the last one but I refuse to give a chapter count just in case. WHY do these people have so many damn feelings? 
> 
> Also, I attempted to keep the format I’ve had with the previous chapter with alternating POVs from each couple but it got kinda hard and messy with vastly different lengths across the board and I had to split up and shorten Aiden/Lamberts and *shrugs* it’s a mess because they’re a mess and I’m a mess. Enjoy?

Eskel is pacing again. It’s not his fault; Vesemir has just ran out of shit to assign him. So he’s pacing. Because they’re still in there and it’s been over an entire day and if no one comes out in the next minute he’s smashing through the bloody door. As though reading his mind (which wouldn’t surprise him considering what Geralt has told him about the witch, Yennefer slips out. Crossing her arms she leans tiredly against the door. Eskel raises a brow as he takes in her appearance. The usually immaculate sorceress’ gown is wrinkled as though she had been lying in it, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot. “Your boorish fretting is distracting me again,” she grumbles. 

Eskel’s brow rises higher. “You mean you’re not done yet?” He doesn’t know whether to laugh or growl so he chooses to glower. 

Yennefer returns the look. “It’s delicate magic,” she says through gritted teeth. “So unless you would like me to irreparably maim your little fox, leave us be,” she hisses. Eskel snarls at her insinuation, fists clenching uselessly but she just glares back at him. With a final warning rumble, Eskel stalks away, grumbling to himself about irritating witches. He needs to find Geralt so he can punch something. Considering the fact that Jaskier disappeared, the White Wolf could probably use a fellow punching bag. 

*******

Kamil blinks open his eyes with a groan. Fuck. Everything hurts. Looking down at himself however, Kamil’s breath catches in his throat. He pats down his body, heedless of the spikes of pain that come from his touch, too shocked to notice. Holy shit. She actually did it. Relief and elation crash over him and Kamil clasps a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob. A lifetime of feeling incomplete, of feeling like he didn’t belong in his own body, wash away like a retreating tide. 

Taking in a shaky breath, Kamil surveys the room, noticing Marya and Yennefer dozing in the arm chairs beside his bed. He smiles softly, chest filling with warmth. He’s never had so many people care about him like these folk do. And they hardly know him, one for less than a year and one for less than a week. Kamil attempts to rise before wincing and deciding that’s a bad idea. 

Marya steadies him, gentling Kamil back down. Smiling weakly up at her, Kamil croaks, “This looks familiar.” 

Stroking a hand through his hair Marya says fondly, “All we’re missing is your fretful witcher.” Kamil’s grin falters. He’s not gonna lie and say he didn’t search the room for Eskel first. “Yennefer was close to turning him into a newt if he wouldn’t stop hovering,” Marya explains with a humorous twist of her lips. 

A wave of affection rushes through him, warming Kamil down to his fingers and toes. “Overprotective wolf,” he says fondly. “Can I see him?” 

Less than a minute later Eskel rushes through the door, eyes wild as he draws up to Kamil. “How are you feeling? Did she harm you? Can you move? Do you feel differently?” The rush of questions are only halted when Kamil stretches out his arm to grasp Eskel’s fluttering hands. Eskel obediently follows Kamil’s tug, gently settling down beside the shifter. 

Pressing the roughened hand to his lips Kamil grins, “Heard you were giving Yennefer some trouble.” Kamil learns that laughing hurts unfortunately after he witnesses Eskel’s sheepish look like the witcher was caught stealing from Vesemir’s secret biscuit stash. “You’re sweet to worry about me, Sunlight,” he murmurs.

“How do you feel?” Eskel repeats, gazing down at him with worried eyes. 

Knowing he can’t hide from his witcher Kamil responds dryly, “Like I was dipped into a well of kerosene and lit afire.” When Eskel turns to growl at the sorceress, Kamil tugs him back. He grins as the witcher follows like an obedient pup. “She warned me it would feel like this afterwards my love,” Kamil says patiently. “This kind of magic is beyond the effects of pain salve. I knew what I was getting into.” 

“When will it stop?” Eskel rasps, staring at him helplessly. 

“You can’t rush healing, pup,” Marya says consolingly. Glancing at Yennefer, she nods. “We’ll give you two some privacy.” 

When the door closes, Eskel cups Kamil’s face. “How do you feel? Beyond the pain?” 

Kamil beams at him, tears pouring down his face. “Like me.” 

*******

Geralt is training, not “mutilating poor training dummies'' okay? Eskel can shove it. So what if Jaskier hasn’t returned in over a week after chasing after Ewa’s murder happy brother? Geralt’s fine with that. Just wishes Eskel would leave Kamil’s side for a bloody _minute_ so he has someone to spar with. Lambert is too busy staring at Aiden with stars in his eyes. 

He’s attempting to stuff straw back into the several holes Geralt’s made on his fifth dummy in the past hour when a scent he could follow in his sleep wafts on the breeze. Like pine and honey and a hint of dirt and _home._ Dropping the mauled dummy, Geralt finds himself shifting and racing toward the gates of the keep. Geralt plows into his mate and the two of them go tumbling with gleeful growls. Wrestling hasn’t been one of the things in Jaskier’s shifter curriculum so in no time at all Geralt finds himself pinned by a russet-colored wolf whose blue eyes glint with glee in the sunlight. 

Geralt greedily rubs his muzzle against Jaskier’s neck, soaking in the scent of his mate while Jaskier does the same. He didn’t think it possible, but when he’s shifted Geralt’s affection for Jaskier is _more_ somehow. It’s raw and burns in his veins, compelling him to hunt and groom and nuzzle and _prove_ that he’s a good mate. 

When Geralt hears a throat being cleared he turns his head to growl at the interruption to find himself looking up at a stranger. He’s tall, as tall as Geralt or perhaps even taller. His bald head does nothing to hide the pointed ears of his ancestry, and a single golden cuff is clasped around copper skin. Geralt cocks his head when he notices something wiggling in the man’s large pack. Rolling out from under Jaskier to investigate, Geralt ignores the man’s wary gaze to sniff at his pack curiously. 

After a moment, a tiny gray head pops out of the flap. _Friend_ Geralt rumbles, tail wagging. Jaskier bounds up beside him, itching to get closer but the man is backing up rapidly. A sharp whistle stops Geralt and Jaskier from following him. Marya comes striding to the gate, Dandelion slinking after her. “Apologies good sir,” Marya grunts. “As you can see, I have a couple of untrained unruly pups.” At Marya’s glare, Jaskier and Geralt whine, ears peeling back as they plop to the ground. 

The man eyes the pair dubiously before turning to Marya who stands with her hands on her hips, lips pursed. He jolts when Dandelion promptly begins climbing him before wiggling into his pack. “Um-” he says, looking utterly lost.

“You can take your cat out if you want,” Marya says, lips twitching. “Though my pups are unruly, they know what to keep out of their mouths. Usually." Jaskier sneezes, butting Geralt’s head with amusement. He huffs out a sigh. His mate will never let him live down the squirrel incident. 

The man hesitates but when a thud in his pack makes him lurch, he drops it with exasperation. “Alloy you better not get yourself eaten,” he grumbles, pulling out a gray-striped cat as Dandelion climbs out as well. Both cats promptly climb atop Jaskier and Geralt respectfully before the man’s uncomprehending eyes. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he breathes. 

Clapping him on the back Marya says warmly, “Welcome to our pack.” 

*******

After guiding Leon to his rooms, Jaskier shifts and throws on a tunic and breeches he belatedly realizes are Geralt’s before returning to knock on the newcomer’s door. “Who is it?” a muffled voice calls. 

“Jaskier at your service,” the bard chirps cheerfully. 

The door creaks open but Leon leans against the frame with his arms crossed. “What do you want?” he grunts. 

Jaskier isn’t fazed; he’s used to grunting and grouching men. “Thought I could give you a tour of the place. Show you where the food and forge are at least,” Jaskier explains. From what Geralt reported, Ewa and Ciri have been spending most of their time hiding in their room so the risk of running into them is low. 

Leon’s face shutters though and Jaskier racks his brain with what to say to get this man out of his self-imposed isolation. “If you’re worried about running into Ewa and Ciri, I’ll act as a buffer until you’re ready to speak to them,” Jaskier offers solemnly. 

Leon seems to search for something in Jaskier’s eyes and after a long moment nods. “Lead the way.” 

The first stop is food. They had hardly eaten today and Jaskier is a good host dammit. When they enter the kitchen it’s to Aiden briskly organizing the pantry while Lambert attempts to juggle some knives. Fuck. This was not what Jaskier wanted Leon’s first impression of the keep’s residents to be. Though considering how Geralt greeted him any good first impression is probably gone with the wind. “I could see this ending rather poorly for you,” Jaskier remarks, distracting Lambert enough for him to fumble and be forced to dodge the weapons. 

Whirling to glare at Jaskier, Lambert points at him threateningly. “You’re gonna pay for that Songbird.” Noticing the newcomer Lambert rises to his full height, crossing his arms. “Who the fuck are you?” he demands. 

Mirroring the witcher’s pose, the blacksmith rumbles, “Leon.” 

Lambert bares his teeth. “Lay one hand on Ciri and I won’t hesitate to cut your bollocks off and then rip your head from your neck,” Lambert growls.

“Diplomacy,” the Cat singsongs, coming up to Lambert and grasping the back of his neck. Though Lambert doesn’t move, something flickers in his face from the gesture and he minutely relaxes. Jaskier smiles to himself. Yeah, Aiden is good for the irascible Wolf. “I apologize for my feral kitten,” Aiden purrs. Stretching out a hand he says, “My name is Aiden. The angry one is Lambert.” 

Clasping Aiden’s hand Leon nods to both of them, expression guarded. “Well!” Jaskier says brightly, breathing a sigh of relief that there was no bloodshed yet, “With that aside could you perhaps point us to some food?” 

While Lambert glowers at Leon, the blacksmith ignores him in favor of munching on some dried jerky. Throwing an arm around Leon, Jaskier eventually leads him out. “Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. “Lambert is like that with everyone. He’ll warm up to you.”

“Not sure if I want that kinda crazy near me,” Leon mutters. Jaskier bites his lip. In that case, this is gonna be a long winter. Yes, he says winter. Sure, Leon wants to reconcile and flee but Jaskier is hoping he can convince the blacksmith to stay. Everyone needs a pack. 

“Do you like to read?” Jaskier asks. At Leon’s nod, Jaskier grins, changing directions to head to the library. Between this and the forge, the likelihood of Leon wanting to get out of here quickly will certainly lessen. When they enter, Kamil is lying in a bed but directing Eskel to retrieve a certain book. Rushing over to him Jaskier says fretfully, “What happened cousin?! You can’t make getting injured a winter tradition, Eskel’s heart won’t be able to handle it!” 

Beaming up at Jaskier, Kamil grasps his hand. “I’m not injured Jaskier- just got a little surgery from Yennefer.” 

Jaskier blinks uncomprehendingly and opens his mouth to demand more information when Eskel interrupts him. “Are you gonna introduce us to our guest?” 

Turning to look at where Leon is staring wide eyed at the multitude of shelves, Jaskier smiles softly. “Of course. Leon?” At his name the blacksmith blinks and clears his throat, that joyous expression disappearing to make way for a defensive glower. Jaskier misses it immediately and determines to find a way for that happiness to cross Leon’s face again. 

Walking over to Jaskier, Leon eyes Eskel warily. “Should I prepare myself for threats again?” he asks wryly. 

Chuckling Eskel shakes his head. “I apologize on behalf of the School of the Wolf that you had to meet Lambert.” 

Furrowing his brow Leon remarks, “If he’s a Wolf why did Aiden call him kitten?” 

Eskel, Kamil, and Jaskier share conspiratorial smiles. “We don’t acknowledge that name on pain of death,” Jaskier says solemnly, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Rubbing his face tiredly Leon sighs, “Y’all need some serious help.” Flicking his gaze around the library again, Leon hums. “I think I’ll want to spend some time here though.” 

Fighting the urge to grin Jaskier says casually, “Well, there’s all winter.” 

The beginnings of a smile fade away, replaced by a scowl. “I won’t be here all winter.” 

Jaskier nods amiably. “Of course, how silly of me. Shall we continue the tour?” Ruffling Kamil’s hair and bumping Eskel’s shoulder, Jaskier guides Leon out into the hallway. As they turn into a corridor, Yennefer slips out of a room. Jaskier’s hackles go up. He still hasn’t forgiven her for messing with Geralt. 

Rolling her eyes at Jaskier’s growl, the witch saunters over to them. “And who is this lovely specimen?” she purrs, dancing her fingers up Leon’s chest. Looking visibly uncomfortable, Leon takes a careful step back. Pouting, Yennefer croons, “Don’t tell me you only want another cock to play with too,” swinging her hips as she follows the retreating half-elf. 

Putting up his hands Leon swallows, “No I-” 

When Leon flicks his gaze to Jaskier helplessly, the shifter takes several steps forward to grasp Yennefer by her arm. “Leave off hag,” Jaskier hisses. 

Glaring Yennefer simpers, “A girl gets lonely. What do you expect when you bring such a delicious looking man?” 

Crossing his arms Leon shifts on his feet. “I’m sorry lady but I’m really not interested.” 

Huffing a sigh, Yennefer slinks off. “Your loss,” she calls. 

Seeing the disturbed expression still plastered on Leon’s face, Jaskier draws closer. “Are you okay Leon?” he asks worriedly. 

Glancing at Jaskier, Leon hugs himself closer. “I’m just- not interested in that.” 

Jaskier nods emphatically. “Of course! I wouldn’t want to stick my sausage in that well of crazy either.” 

Wincing Leon glances away furtively. “Yeah, well-” Clearing his throat, Leon sighs to the ceiling. “I don’t really like to stick my sausage anywhere, if you catch me drift.” 

Jaskier blinks, furrowing his brow in confusion. Wait, what does Leon mean? He doesn’t like to fuck? Or he doesn’t like to top? Shrugging to himself, Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “We will never ask you to do something you’re uncomfortable with Leon,” he says kindly. “But if it’s touch that you really don’t like then you may not want to join our cuddle sessions.”

A spark of longing flashes in Leon’s eye before flickering away. “Cuddle sessions?” he asks, keeping his voice uninterested, despite how he takes a step closer.

Jaskier beams at him, sweeping his arms wide. “What better evening activity can you think of when you have a group of touch-starved witchers and shifters who have super soft fur?” 

A ghost of a smile spreads across Leon’s face. “Dunno how I feel about cuddling near crazy purple eyes and crazy knife juggler but I have nothing against touch.” Scratching his head and shrugging Leon mumbles, “Just sex that I don’t like.” 

“Well, you’re clearly doing it wrong then,” Jaskier laughs, but stops when Leon’s face darkens and his fists clench. 

“I know how to have sex,” Leon growls, looming over Jaskier. Gulping, the shifter takes a step back, distantly realizing that he just said something very wrong. But not liking sex is such a foreign concept to him. He _loves_ sex. Why would someone not enjoy it other than if they have shit partners? “I have tried sleeping with men, women, and everything in between,” Leon grits out. “I have gone to the best prostitutes money could afford and _nothing._ I don’t like sex and I don’t fucking need some condescending bard telling me I’m doing it wrong!” 

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat, the remnants of his jerky from earlier tasting like ash on his tongue. The blacksmith’s amber eyes are flashing with pain, brows creased with humiliation. Fuck. Jaskier fucked up big time. Reaching out, Jaskier carefully touches Leon’s cheek. “I’m so sorry Leon,” Jaskier croaks, trying to blink away the burning in his eyes. “I- I just have never heard of someone not liking sex before and I spoke crassly and thoughtlessly.” Biting his lip Jaskier pulls his hand to clasp it over his heart. “What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” 

Leon just blinks at him dumbly before taking a step back. Clearing his throat, Leon crosses his arms. “Nothing to forgive bard. Just show me where the forge is.” 

Following after the blacksmith Jaskier wrings his hands. “Please, Leon. I clearly have grievously insulted you. How can I make up for it?” 

Leon shifts on his feet uncomfortably, looking everywhere but Jaskier. “I-” he clears his throat again, shaking his head and shrugging. “No one’s asked me that before.” 

Jaskier’s mouth gapes open. “Then they’re all assholes,” he finally says firmly. “And I should call myself one among them.” 

Flicking his eyes over to him, Leon’s lips twitch. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, bard.” Nodding he adds gruffly, “Appreciate the apology. Don’t make light of it again and we should be good.” 

Jaskier nods frantically, relief washing over him. Oh fuck. He nearly lost Leon before he brought down even one of the man’s many fortified walls. Smiling hopefully Jaskier says, “Forge?” 

Nodding Leon echoes gratefully, “Forge.”

*******

Ewa is showing Vesemir how to fill a mold when she hears the cheerful voice of Jaskier. Turning to greet him, Ewa drops her iron in shock to find her brother staring at her. _”Leon?”_ she rasps. “You’re here?” 

Face shuttered, her twin spins around and stalks away without a second glance, and Ewa feels her heart going with him. She reaches out helplessly but knows better than to chase after him. Jaskier glances at her apologetically before racing after Leon. After a long moment, Ewa slumps against the counter. “Give him time pup,” Vesemir says gruffly, placing the iron back on the counter and clapping her on the back.

Ewa blinks back tears rapidly and tries to swallow past the burning in her throat. “Right. Where were we?” she says, hating how her voice cracks. 

A golden gaze peers at her carefully. “I’m feeling a tad tired. Perhaps some biscuits and tea?” 

Ewa knows what Vesemir is doing and resents it. But the rational part of her knows that she’s in no shape to handle sharp objects and fire. “Don’t think there are any biscuits left,” she mumbles. 

Vesemir shoots her a conspiratorial smile, an odd look on such a weathered face. “There are in my hidden stash.” 

A few minutes later, Ewa enters the dining hall to scrounge up some tea to boil while Vesemir retrieves the biscuits. Apparently since Lambert and Jaskier found his stash last year, he’s grown a tad more paranoid with where he hides them. Ewa shakes her head fondly. Wild wolves, the lot of them. A crash and swear makes Ewa hurry into the kitchen to find Lambert glowering, sprawled on the floor covered in tomato juice and surrounded by knives and tomatoes. Aiden is leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Do I want to know?” Ewa asks warily. 

“Lambert thought it would be a grand idea to add tomatoes into his knife juggling act,” Aiden remarks lightly, gesturing to the tableau before them. 

“I was doing fine till you distracted me,” Lambert scowls. Aiden simply blinks innocently at him and Ewa has a sinking suspicion that she doesn’t want to know what he did to distract the disciplined Wolf. 

Rubbing her face tiredly Ewa groans, “I just came in here for some tea.” Shooting a stern glare at Lambert she adds, “You’re gonna want to clean this place up before Marya sees it. Biscuit Privileges…” she trails off threateningly. Lambert pales at her insinuation before scrambling to clean the place up. Ewa grins. Works every time. Sliding past the Cat languidly watching Lambert crawl on his hands in knees with far too much interest for Ewa’s taste, she quickly retrieves the tea set, fills it with water, and slips out of the kitchen.

Settling down at the hearth with a sigh, Ewa sets up the tea to get it to boil. When she hears footsteps Ewa calls behind her, “Did they find the stash yet?” 

“What stash?” a voice she wasn’t expecting rumbles. 

Whirling around, Ewa swallows as she finds Geralt standing before her with his hands in his breeches pockets. “Sorry. Wrong person.” Quickly turning back around, Ewa checks on the water, knowing it’s not close to boiling yet. She wouldn’t say she’s been avoiding Geralt per se, she’s just been...quickly leaving any room he enters. But she can’t this time; Ewa made a promise to Vesemir.

Geralt and Ewa had started to build a relationship near the end of winter when he began apprenticing under her and she could enact some revenge on how he treated her for the first few months. But now it feels like all that progress is lost, this invisible barrier blocking them from reconnecting. Gesturing silently at the rug by the hearth with an inquiring brow, Geralt settles beside her when Ewa gives a begrudging nod. 

They sit side by side, both staring into the fire silently. “How have you been?” he finally grunts. 

Ewa shrugs. “Like a unicorn dancing across a rainbow,” she says sardonically.

Geralt hums. “They don’t exist.”

Raising an incredulous brow, Ewa turns to him. “What?” 

“Unicorns,” he nods. “They don’t exist.” Ewa barks out a laugh despite herself and watches Geralt’s lips quirk ever so slightly. 

Accepting the olive branch for what it is Ewa says, “Heard you’re a bit more wolfy than before?” 

Geralt releases a low grunt and for the life of her she has no idea how Ciri and Jaskier have learned to decipher the sounds that come out of this man’s mouth. “Seems like I’m a shifter now.” 

Thinking back to some of the antics from last winter Ewa grins. “You shifted and pounced on Jaskier the moment he came back, didn’t you?” She’ll take the lack of response and awkward tapping of his knee as a yes. 

Her attention is pulled away at the whistling of the pot though so Ewa turns to tend to it. “This tea session ain’t for you boy,” Vesemir growls as he comes up beside them. When Geralt eyes the basket cradled in the older witcher’s arms he gets a smack upside his head. “Either scat or make yourself useful.” Ewa idly wonders how Geralt can be useful here when the witcher rolls his eyes and shifts. 

She stares at him, wide eyed. And she thought Marya and Jaskier were big. Spinning around several times, Geralt finally settles in the center of the rug with a huff. When he doesn’t even blink after Vesemir gives him an approving ruffle, Ewa reaches out to tentatively pet him. A small smile begins to spread across her face. “Hm. Soft.” 

*******

Lambert scowls as the lazy Cat does nothing to help him clean. “Feel free to help at any time,” he grumbles. 

Aiden hums. “Thanks, but I’m admiring the view.” Freezing, Lambert realizes how he must look, crawling on the floor while Aiden watches from where he lounges against the wall. Turning to glower at the other witcher Lambert grumbles, “This isn’t a free show.” 

“Oh?” Lambert can’t help a shudder from that dark tone of intent in Aiden’s voice as he rounds the counter so they’re facing each other. “What must I give as payment?” 

Lambert swallows, licking his lips as he notes what he comes face to face with at this level. Peering up under his eyelashes in the way he knows gets Aiden going Lambert says, “Bedroom?” 

Eyes darkening Aiden hauls Lambert up. “Bedroom.” 

*******

Ciri is staring aimlessly at her wall when a light knock sounds on her door. “Who is it?” she asks dully.

“A vampire come to suck your blood,” says a dramatic voice with an exaggerated lisp. 

Rolling her eyes with a grin Ciri calls, “Hmm, not interested Sir Vampire. Perhaps another day.”

“Well I can’t say I’m surprised, just disappointed,” the mopey voice says. 

Laughing Ciri says with fond exasperation, “C’mon in Jaskier.” 

The door creaks open and a head with an unruly mop of hair pops through. “Hey pup,” he smiles softly, fully entering and closing the door behind him. “Two legs or four legs?” 

Ciri worries at her lip, trying to decide before huffing out a sigh. She needs to hear her dad’s voice. “Two,” she mumbles. Nodding, Jaskier strides over to where she’s seated on a settee, settling down before opening up his arms. Scooting towards him, Ciri releases a bone-weary sigh as she’s wrapped up in arms that have sheltered her for over a decade. Surrounded by that honey and pine scent and an embrace that has never let her down, Ciri feels the weight that has been crushing her for the past few weeks lift slightly. Jaskier has always been willing to carry her load when it’s too heavy. 

Stroking a hand through her hair, Jaskier presses a kiss to the top of her head. “What would you like to talk about my sweet?” Ciri releases a shaky sigh. “Just. What to do now.” Jaskier hums, plucking out her tie so Ciri’s hair falls to her shoulders. Ciri closes her eyes as he continues stroking her hair from her temple to her shoulder, steady, stolid. 

“Well, Leon is here-” 

Ciri stiffens, bolting upright. _”What?”_

Jaskier furrows his brow. “I told you I would fix this.” 

Ciri jumps to her feet. “They’re gonna kill him!” she cries, racing to the door. 

She releases a humph when Jaskier snags an arm and drags her back to the settee. Damn shifter strength. “Now, now, none of that pup. Trust me, right?”

Ciri stares into those guileless eyes from the man who has never failed her. “They’re going to harm him,” Ciri says brokenly. 

“Last time I saw him, Leon was reading poetry with Kamil and Eskel. Before that I’m happy to say that he only got threatened and propositioned once, thankfully not by the same person,” Jaskier reports proudly. 

Ciri groans in her hands. “He’s gonna run out of here before I can get one word out.”

She lets herself be guided back to her earlier position, snuggling into Jaskier’s embrace like a child all over again. “He needs time little one,” Jaskier soothes. “I promised him safety and shelter here in the meantime.” 

Ciri turns to blink up at the shifter. “He’s not gonna talk to us, is he?”

Jaskier dances his fingers up and down her arm. “Most likely not,” Jaskier eventually sighs. “Not until he’s ready.” 

Ciri deflates. Having Leon here but not being able to speak to him, to apologize, to hug is going to be miserable. “Four legs?” Ciri requests in a whisper. 

Beaming, Jaskier kisses atop her head. “Anything for you my pup.” A moment later, she buries herself in russet-colored fur and takes a steady breath. It’s going to be a long and hard winter. At least Ciri has her pack with her. 

*******

Aiden peers down at where Lambert is seated at his feet, eyes closed and head leaning against the Cat’s legs. Fuck, he’s really out. Aiden strokes Lambert’s hair firmer and gets a happy hum and nuzzle in response. He was afraid that he pushed Lambert too hard today, but seems like it was just the right amount. The Wolf had been making him nervous with his increasingly dumb stunts and he hoped that this might help as an outlet. 

Fuck but he adores this creature, his feral ferocity, his abrasive attitude, his steady strength, and of course, how he just melts under Aiden’s touch. What a fucking gift. His kitten has claws, it’s true, but it’s times like this when he’ll show Aiden who he truly is. Someone longing for touch, for care, for love. Someone so world-weary who needs his heavy load to be lifted, if only for a little while. And Aiden will happily carry that weight, gladly provide that touch and love, for the rest of his godsdamned life. 

*******

She finds him on the training ground, throwing daggers into a training dummy with single-minded focus. Marya watches from a distance before approaching. “Know any other weapons?” Leon fumbles his throw and it goes wide. 

Turning, he looks at her with a guarded expression. “Nothing wrong with knives,” he grunts. 

Humming Marya wanders over to him. “True, but nothing wrong with having a more varied skill set."

Leon crosses his arms. “You realize you’re offering to teach the man who attempted to kill one of your packmates how to use more weapons, right?” 

Grinning Marya remarks lightly, “Who said anything about teaching?” As she speaks, Marya tosses the bow and quiver that Kamil had such harsh words to say about last winter. Yes, that tale spread through the keep fairly quickly and it took an entire day for Aiden to coax Lambert back down from where he was hiding in the ramparts. 

Staring at the bow, Leon shakes his head slowly. “You are all crazy.” 

“The best people are,” Marya agrees. Nodding over to the archery targets Marya orders, “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Now he turns his stare to Marya. “You realize I’ve never held a bow and now, what? You want me to just teach myself?” 

Marya grins evilly. “Best way to learn is through trial and failure.” He stares at her for a moment longer, mouth open with disbelief. 

Finally, Leon shakes his head and turns to the target. “Why the fuck am I still here?” he mutters. Marya smiles softly. _Because you need a pack, pup. Whether you think you want one or not._ Clumsily gripping the bow, Leon fumbles until he thinks that the arrow is notched. When he draws back however, the arrow plops to the ground and he swears. Marya hums with satisfaction. Sure, she wants him to be part of the pack and his behavior towards Ciri is slightly understandable. Grief is like that. Still, he put a knife to her pup’s pup so she’ll let him flounder for a bit longer before helping him out. 

*******

Vesemir stares down to where Ewa is fast asleep on a dozing wolf. He nods with satisfaction. He didn’t like the heavy bags under the blacksmith’s eyes, especially when she was handling the kinds of tools and materials lying about the forge. Vesemir hoped that some calming tea would help her sleep. A fluffy pillow is just a bonus. One eyelid peels back to reveal a drowsy golden eye, closing again when Vesemir pats the witcher-wolf's head. Yes, without his mate Geralt hadn’t been sleeping well either. He’s also destroyed almost all of Vesemir’s test dummies too so he’ll be fixing those later. For now, Vesemir will leave them to their rest. They need it. 

Wandering out of the dining hall, Vesemir decides to follow that familiar scent of lilac and honey. He’s hardly seen Marya today and could use her calming presence. The bitter smell of distress and unease have permeated the keep for the past week and Marya’s steady hands and soothing scent and lyrical voice have helped keep him grounded. When Vesemir tracks her down he finds her barking orders at poor Leon. 

Ah, of course. Her mother wolf instincts must be rearing their head after what the boy had done. The lack of blood is encouraging though. And gods is she gorgeous. Marya’s chestnut hair glows in the light of the setting sun, hands propped on her hips as she stands as steady as a tree. “What are you resting for? You think a bandit is going to politely wait for you to catch your breath?” Marya snaps as Leon drops his sword and places his hands on his knees to catch his breath. 

“You. Are evil.” He gasps out. Chuckling, Vesemir draws up behind his mate. 

Resting his hands on her shoulders he whispers in her ear, “Think you’ve punished him enough?” 

Ends of her lips twitching, Marya grunts. “We’ll start again tomorrow,” she nods. 

Unfolding to his full height Leon points loosely at her. “The seas will dry up before I request another training session with you,” he gasps out. 

Marya simply grins vaguely at him. “If you say so.” With a final incredulous glance at her, Leon gathers his daggers and limps away. 

“Must you be so harsh my huntress?” Vesemir inquires, wrapping his arms around Marya. 

“Hm. The bow and arrow was the punishment. Boy couldn’t notch an arrow if his life depended on it. This was so he doesn’t get stabbed wandering the Continent.” Turning around so they’re face to face, Marya draws Vesemir into a lazy kiss. “If this is how torn up they are when they fear he won’t speak to them again, imagine their grief if he is killed on one of his travels,” Marya murmurs, nuzzling Vesemir’s face. 

Vesemir hums. “Sap.” 

Marya growls. “Don’t tell anyone, you’ll ruin my reputation.” She’s not fooling anybody.

Grinning, Vesemir cocks his head. “You’ll just have to find a way to keep me quiet,” he responds playfully. He shivers slightly at the gleam in Marya’s eyes. It should be a fun night.

*******

Dinner is awkward and Leon absolutely would have slinked off if Eskel and Kamil hadn’t engaged him in conversation about his favorite books. He likes Eskel and Kamil; they seem like the least crazy of the keep’s inhabitants. Leon’s burning with curiosity over why Kamil is eating from a bed and also how a bed seems to be appearing in every room he’s in but the blacksmith wisely decides it’s not his place to ask. 

Of course, he’s the main reason dinner is so awkward. Well, him and the two women sitting as far away from him as possible. He hasn’t acknowledged them and despite their many furtive looks in his direction they thankfully haven’t attempted to engage him in conversation. Part of Leon is screaming at himself to launch himself at his twin and sweep her up in a hug and never let her go. The other part of him is still too raw. Plus there’s the whole princess to think about.

Fuck. It’s a mess.

This pack is certainly not what he imagined when Leon was told it was full of witchers and shifters. Seems more like a bunch of slightly unstable misfits stumbling their way through life. Well, join the club he guesses. 

Leon blinks when Jaskier suddenly shifts. Yeah, that’s gonna take some getting used to. As is the subsequent appearance of two gray wolves where Geralt and Marya had sat. When Kamil whines, Leon watches out of the corner of his eye as Eskel hushes him, promising him “soon” whatever the fuck that means. Almost as one, everyone starts filing their way out of the hall and Leon learns how Kamil and that bed have been moving. Damn, Eskel is strong. At Kamil’s encouragement, Leon trails behind them, followed by the purple-eyed one he’s been trying to avoid. Her curious gaze makes him shiver nervously and he would really like to get as much distance between them as possible. 

Apparently everyone is heading to the same room and it’s there that Leon discovers where Alloy ran off to. Standing up from where she was curled up with the cat of the keep, Alloy twines around Ewa’s legs while she laughs delightedly, scooping her up and hugging her close. Leon wants to smile at the sight but instead turns away. He didn’t bring Alloy for her; he brought the cat because he didn’t trust anyone else. 

Sweeping his gaze through the room, Leon notes the various objects scattered about: books, metalwork, combs, daggers, carvings, maps- seemingly no rhyme or reason to it all whatsoever. And on every available surface lies the softest looking rugs and pillows. Leon eyes them longingly. When he feels a tug on his trousers, Leon looks down to find the wagging tail of a russet-colored wolf. He spent enough time with Jaskier traveling here to recognize him, especially considering the coats of the other two shifters. (Speaking of, he thought Geralt was a witcher, not a shifter. Whatever-too many people to keep straight anyway. Not like he’ll be staying long enough to remember everyone’s names if he wanted to.) 

Following the hopeful tugging of the excitable shifter, Leon finds himself between Jaskier and Marya, who is far softer in this form than on two legs. Gods, but Leon hasn’t had his arse kicked like that since Da had him run laps through the village after he dumped Ewa’s soup over her head as a lad. Leon can’t help but notice that Ewa and the princess are on the opposite side of the room with Geralt, the crazy and calm duo, and the cats. Probably for the best. Tentatively, Leon sits down, only to relax when he discovers that the rug really is as soft as it looked. 

“Yennefer, come and join us,” Kamil calls. Leon startles at the twin growls emanating from around him. Huh, looks like the witch isn’t necessarily a favorite in this strange place. “Cousins, quit it. She helped me and she’s pack,” Kamil snaps, emerald eyes flashing. Leon watches in amazement when both wolves look meek at the easygoing man’s surprising claws. And what’s that about cousins? Gods Leon’s head hurts just trying to keep up. 

Watching apprehensively as the woman sweeps in, Leon burrows deeper into the fur surrounding him. He releases a soft sigh of relief when she settles by Kamil and Eskel instead of drawing nearer. Rubbing his temple, Leon closes his eyes. This day was bloody exhausting and if it was any indication, shit is only going to get more so tomorrow. All Leon wanted to do was hammer out some of his feelings in the forge, tell Ewa he’ll write at some point, and head out. Instead, he didn’t even have a chance to try out anything in the smithy, he met far too many people for his taste, and he got his arse whooped by a sadistic yet very soft shifter. He can only imagine what tomorrow will bring. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?


	7. Winter: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is in full swing so it's time for everyone to get their shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls across the finish line* VICTORY!
> 
> Me when outlining this story: This is gonna be great! One chapter per season, I’ll create seamless POV shifts, look at me being so professional!  
> Leon: Uh-hey- I heard you write a lot of feels?  
> Me, apprehensively: Yes?  
> Leon: Okay, great! *opens a giant backpack and dumps a shit-ton of angst and emotions onto my desk*  
> Me, staring hopelessly at my smeared outline: Fuck. 
> 
> In short, thank you to those of you who stuck it through to the end of this clusterfuck of a fic. You're heroes. And to those of you who commented, when I stared hopelessly at my destroyed outline, you helped me through, so thank you.

Jaskier watches helplessly as Geralt chases after another butterfly. “I have a lot to apologize for from my youth, don’t I Marya?” he says faintly, lowering his sword. They were practicing fighting on two feet without Geralt getting distracted by everything that moved. It hasn’t been going too well. 

The older shifter barks out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh my pup, a lifetime of groveling couldn’t make up for the gray hairs you gave me,” she responds dryly, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Shifting, Jaskier rolls onto his back and looks up at Marya with the biggest puppy eyes possible. “You’re a menace,” she remarks fondly, crouching down to bop his nose. Sneezing, Jaskier rolls to his feet just to be bowled over by an overenthusiastic wolf.

_Mate_ Jaskier growls, tussling for the upper hand as they go tumbling. The wave of adoration and affection and elation that rolls off of Geralt hits Jaskier like a gust of Aard and he falls to his back. The giant wolf that pins him takes advantage of Jaskier’s vulnerability to snuffle and nose along his neck before intently grooming him. _Clean_ Jaskier protests. _Mate_ Geralt rumbles insistently. Sighing, Jaskier gives into the treatment. After all, Geralt endured the same practice when Jaskier was unintentionally courting the witcher. With his instincts going wild, Geralt has become consumed with the need to care and prove himself to Jaskier, especially when in this form. Gods but he’s adorable as a shifter.

It only took one observation of Geralt for Yennefer to shake her head and shrug. “It was simpler and safer to tip him the final step into being a shifter than dragging him from wolf to witcher. I can try to undo it but I can’t promise it won’t mess with his current abilities.” So that was that. Jaskier has slightly forgiven Yennefer now that he knows it wasn’t completely out of malice. But it would’ve been helpful for them to know what she had done instead of finding out when Geralt spotted the first rabbit that crossed their bloody path. 

At the questioning whine and nudge of worry, Jaskier nuzzles Geralt’s muzzle, sending pulses of warmth and reassurance to his mate. Geralt’s lupine grin is quickly wiped off his face when he’s dragged off of Jaskier by his scruff, paws flailing in the air uselessly. _Train_ Marya grunts. Jaskier releases a sigh, rolling to his feet. Decades of discipline as a witcher seems to fly out the window when Geralt shifts, which is worrisome. Geralt can’t return to the Path until they can ensure he won’t shift and chase after a squirrel in the middle of a hunt. Hopefully between Marya and Jaskier, he’ll get a better hold of his instincts. 

*******

Geralt snarls to himself as he fights the urge to shift. Even with all the training Marya has thrown at him it can be so hard. Fuck, but Jaskier is laughing and his eyes are glittering in the sunlight and Geralt just wants to rub his head against him and snuggle up and-

Aw, fuck. 

Jaskier jumps in surprise when a giant wolf eagerly nudges against his legs from where he’s chatting with Leon. “Hello my love,” Jaskier says fondly, ruffling Geralt’s fur. The wolf-witcher releases a pleased rumble, twining himself around Jaskier’s legs. 

“So- he was a witcher and then he was cursed as a wolf and then cured to be a shifter/witcher?” Leon asks dubiously, scratching his head. 

“Essentially,” Jaskier shrugs, carding his fingers through Geralt’s fur mindlessly. Geralt closes his eyes with a hum. He understands why Jaskier loves this form so much. It feels so good.

“And- this kind of shit is normal for you all?” Leon prompts with an incredulous eyebrow. 

Releasing a laugh that fills Geralt with bubbling warmth Jaskier responds, “In this pack you learn to go with the flow and ask as few questions as possible. For instance, I could wonder why Lambert is lining up what looks like empty bottles on the rampart, but for my sanity, I know better than to ask.” 

Peeling open an eye and turning to look at where the younger witcher is studiously placing the bottles, Geralt releases a huff. Lambert and Ciri have gotten into the habit of blowing shit up these past few weeks. Part of him thinks he should stop it but when Geralt sees Ciri crack a rare smile when Lambert does something utterly idiotic, he decides to leave them be. Knowing that Jaskier will either freak the fuck out or attempt to join in once they get started, Geralt tugs on the bard’s tunic toward the spring. He’s not willing to find out which direction his mate chooses. Rolling his eyes Jaskier grins before following Geralt. “Bossy wolf.”

*******

Ewa is helping Vesemir mold some metal when she hears footsteps. Turning, she has just enough time to spot Leon start to walk in before he’s turning and hurrying away. Chasing after him Ewa cries out, “Wait!” Leon freezes, but doesn’t turn around. Ewa gulps. She’s been respecting Leon’s unspoken wish and hasn’t gone near him, hasn’t spoken to him. Her heart has been utterly shredded by doing so but it’s the least she can do. But this isn’t fair to him. “You can use the forge, I was just showing Vesemir how to do something. You can probably teach him better anyway.” 

Slowly, Leon turns around, the face that is usually as easy to read as Ewa’s own now completely closed off. Nodding, Leon strides over stiffly, hesitating for just a moment as he passes her before moving on. As he walks by, Ewa spots the piece of jewelry around his wrist and a small flicker of hope blooms through her chest. He’s still wearing it. Looking down, Ewa stares at the matching cuff around her own arm, tracing the words engraved in their mother’s tongue. _Together or apart, one life, one heart_

They made them for each other not long after their parents were slaughtered. Alone and grief-stricken, all they had from that day on was each other. If he’s still wearing it...maybe not everything is broken. 

*******

Vesemir raises a brow when instead of Ewa returning, her mirror image wanders in. “Has she finally given me up as a hopeless case?” Vesemir inquires lightly. 

Glancing over to him, Leon rubs the back of his head, expression troubled. “Naw, just thought I could help, I guess?” 

Vesemir grunts. Of course. The boy has attempted to come in a few times now but if Ewa was here he would flee. Poor girl probably felt even more guilt at the thought of keeping him from the forge. “I’m sure you have more important and interesting orders you’re eager to work on than talking me through how to bend some metal,” Vesemir muses idly. 

At this Leon shifts awkwardly, picking up an anvil and twisting it in his hands. “Well, yeah,” he admits with a shrug. 

Vesemir huffs out a laugh. Gotta appreciate the honesty. “Seems to me this forge is roomy enough for three. You could work on your orders while Ewa helps an old man try to learn a new skill,” he remarks with a careless shrug. 

Leon glowers at him, fist tightening around the anvil. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been avoiding that woman as best I can,” he grits out. 

Vesemir nods amiably, leaning against the workspace and crossing his arms. “Of course. And are you planning on doing so all winter? You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need.” 

Leon falters, eyebrows scrunching up. “I-” his expression hardens. “I’m not staying here for the winter.” 

“Hm. Winter goes by fast. Might want to have whatever discussion you're avoiding sooner rather than later before the passes close then.” 

Leon’s eyes widen. “The passes?” he prompts apprehensively.

“No one told you?” Vesemir asks, studying the ceiling. Oh that scheming shifter; he knew exactly what he was doing. This needs to be handled delicately- poor boy is jumpy like a cornered cat. From what Vesemir can glean, it’s only been him and Ewa most of their lives. Awfully lonely; Vesemir would know. Leon isn’t used to a group of people actually wanting to get to know him, people who care. “After the first big storm it’s impossible to make it down the mountain. That’s actually how Marya and Kamil ended up staying their first winters.” Vesemir’s implication is clear: and they were more than happy remaining here from that day on. 

Leon backs away, trepidation coloring his face. “I don’t wanna be here all winter,” he protests weakly. 

Vesemir raises a brow, consciously keeping his body language loose, unimposing. “And why’s that?”

Leon simply stares at Vesemir, swallowing nervously. “There’s always a price,” he finally whispers. 

Vesemir’s ragged heart goes out to the young man, so unused to kindness for kindness’ sake. “Aye,” Vesemir agrees. “Most people of this world have hidden motives clouded by fake smiles and flowery promises.” The witcher spreads his arms wide. “Have the glowers, veiled threats, rants about poetry, and distractible shifters indicated anything but what is on the surface?” He’s not going to even mention the brutal training that Leon vowed he wouldn’t return to and yet begrudgingly has on multiple occasions since. 

Vesemir watches with keen eyes as Leon’s final resistance crumbles. “I-” Leon shakes his head with a sigh before peering up at Vesemir with helpless eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he rasps. 

Vesemir nods. “Let’s start with some tea and biscuits and go from there,” he suggests gently.

*******

Marya and Yennefer do one more survey before nodding at Kamil. “You’re free from bedrest,” Marya determines. “But still no shifting for a few more weeks.” Kamil whines. He’s itching to shift. Ever since he’s learned about this piece of himself Kamil is amazed at how freeing it can be to change forms. Not to mention, if it had been possible to do the procedure while he was shifted, he would have healed far quicker. Still, Yennefer has informed him that Kamil would have been laid up for at least another month if it weren’t for his shifter blood, so he can count himself lucky. 

Eskel guides Kamil up and the shifter carefully rises to his feet. Wobbling, Kamil shoots a grateful smile to Eskel as the witcher steadies him. “Take it slow my fierce fox,” Eskel says with a soft smile, stroking through his unruly locks. Nodding determinately, Kamil makes his way out of the infirmary with a final grateful glance to the two women. Gods, if he doesn’t have to see that bed for the rest of his life he’ll be a happy man. 

As they walk out of the room Aiden stalks by them, dragging Lambert by the ear. “I am dumping you into the bloody spring whether you want to or not,” he’s snarling. “That is the _last_ time you experiment with creating a stink bomb.”

“I think you are overlooking the potential merits of the Shit Attack bomb,” Lambert grumbles, shockingly allowing himself to be led.

“One, you are not naming it that. Two-” their voices fade as they turn a corner. Grinning after them, an idea pops into Kamil’s head. Every time he needed a wash last winter, Kamil would do so when no one else was expected to visit the spring. Jaskier has welcomed him several times to join him and the others but Kamil always gave his regrets, not wanting to reveal what hid beneath his clothes. 

Is he ready for this step? Will he ever be? Kamil looks up at Eskel nervously. “Think I could do with a wash too.” 

Eskel searches his gaze, most likely looking for any hint of hesitation. Gripping his shoulders Eskel says gently, “You sure? It’s okay to ease in.” 

Grasping one of Eskel’s hands and turning to press a kiss to it, Kamil twines their fingers together before making his way down the hall. “Let’s do this.” 

*******

Aiden raises a brow from where he’s lounging behind Lambert, the Wolf contentedly pressed against his chest while Jaskier and Geralt mirror their position across the pool. The little fox has joined them for the first time, coincidentally after he received some kind of procedure from the witch. Eyeing the reddened skin and faint scars marking his chest, Aiden hums. Curious. As Kamil slips into the spring, Eskel glares warningly at each one of them before sliding in and sweeping the fox into his arms protectively. 

Aiden quirks his lips as he surveys the three couples in the spring in identical positions. What an odd little pack they have created for themselves. Jaskier is squirming excitedly in front of Geralt and Aiden wonders idly if this is about to become a very different kind of bath when the shifter blurts out, “Kamil! I’m so happy you’re here! Do you want me to wash your hair?” 

“Give the man some time to settle, little wolf,” Geralt gently chastises, pressing a kiss to the bard’s neck. If anyone told Aiden that the great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, would be cradling another creature with tender care while looking at the person with utter devotion, Aiden would’ve laughed them right out of town. Strange how life turns out. 

As he reflects, Lambert turns his head to nuzzle under Aiden’s neck. Hm. And if anyone had said that he would end up in the middle of a wolf’s den with the prickliest man alive in his arms, Aiden would have punched the lights out of them. Seems like he’s getting soft in his old age. Though actually-thinking back to this past Autumn when Aiden was consumed with that manic bloodlust more than ever before-he realizes that love isn’t making him soft. No- if anything, it’s making him stronger than ever. And anyone who dares touch his Wolf will find out how fierce he truly is. 

*******

Eskel can barely think about anything but the creature wrapped in his arms. In the spring. In front of other people. Fuck, Eskel is so proud of his fierce fox. This is such a huge step for him and he literally leaped right in. And from the pleased purring coming from Kamil, it’s been a success. Gods, Eskel can’t wait to get him in bed, to worship Kamil the way he deserves, to explore and rediscover every old and new strip of skin. 

Shit, this is really not the time to be thinking about all of this. 

Turning to eye Eskel slyly Kamil hums, “Did you bring your sword into the spring with us by any chance?” At his brothers’ chortles Eskel growls, scowling when that does nothing to dim their amusement. Stretching, Kamil yawns. “You know, walking around for the first time in weeks is pretty exhausting. Think you can carry me to bed my light?” he asks with a flutter of his lashes. Little minx. Rising with as much dignity as he possesses in his current position, Eskel shoots the smug witchers a final glare before lifting his partner and stalking away. Giggling into his chest Kamil teases, “Care to share what was on your mind gentle wolf?” 

Carefully placing him down so they can change back into their clothes Eskel grumbles, “Just thinking about how proud I was of you and how I want to take my time with you, feel every part of you.” Kamil’s grin softens at Eskel’s words and he rises onto his toes to guide the witcher into a languid kiss. Eskel melts into it, any embarrassment or annoyance banished to make way for curdling pleasure. 

“Take me to bed my wolf,” Kamil breathes. Growling lowly, Eskel bites Kamil’s lower lip before scooping the shifter back into his arms, reveling in his delighted shriek. It’ll probably still take Kamil time to get used to being fully himself, but Eskel is going to do everything in his power to make this transition as seamless as possible. If that means spending long hours in bed with the shifter then, well, Eskel supposes love is worth some sacrifice. 

*******

Leon has been watching the princess intently from afar, trying to reconcile the woman he thought he knew with her true identity. It’s been giving him a headache. He knows there’s an ulterior motive for her courting Ewa, for her forging a relationship with him. Nothing comes free. But he can’t figure out her angle and it’s infuriating. Not to mention the way she throws bombs at old bottles and curls up with the various members of the keep and mucks out the stalls without complaint don’t really scream princess. Leon can’t figure her out.

It all comes to a head on an already glum day. Leon is working on one of his orders, a broadsword, when Ewa and Vesemir trek in. While Vesemir continues into the forge without hesitation, Ewa lingers in the doorway, tapping the golden cuff around her wrist rapidly. It’s that familiar tic which always indicates when she’s nervous that makes Leon cave. “Don’t let the cold in,” he grunts, turning away from her and returning to his work. 

Ewa and Vesemir set up in a work area on the opposite side of the room and besides Ewa’s murmured instructions, silence falls over the shop. But not for long. “E you _gotta_ see what-” Leon turns to see the princess falter in the doorway she just burst through, eyes widening as she takes in who else is in the forge. 

She’s about to back out when Leon slams his hammer onto the counter, done with the tiptoeing. “Fine. Let’s do this,” he growls. Ewa stops in her movement towards the princess while the princess freezes from where she was slipping back out. They both look at him with matching expressions, like cornered deer. After a moment the princess walks fully into the shop, tucking herself under his sister’s arm. And that’s what breaks him.

“Fuck you,” he says lowly, hands clenched into fists. “Fuck you for keeping this from us. From me. Fuck you for pretending to be someone you’re not.” Leon stares stubbornly at their necks, knowing if he looks any higher his resolve will falter. “I don’t know what your motive is for getting close to us and I don’t wanna know. But if you want what’s best for my sister or, fuck, what’s best for _yourself_ you’ll leave her the fuck alone and stop twisting her head.” 

Ewa takes a step toward Leon, hand stretched out, but retreats when he takes a deliberate step back. “Leon, brother, she is not manipulating us,” Ewa insists. 

He slashes his arm across his body impatiently. “Of course she is! What other motive would she have to get to know us?” 

“Friendship,” the princess croaks, gripping Ewa’s arm tightly. “That’s all Leon. Friendship.” 

Leon sneers. “I don’t believe I was speaking to you _princess.”_ She flinches back like she was slapped and Leon feels a dark sense of satisfaction. 

“Leon, what will it take to get you to believe us?” Ewa asks, taking another step forward and forcing him to retreat again, only to find himself pressed against the countertop. 

“Nothing,” he hisses. “There’s nothing you could say that would get me to believe or trust that woman.” 

“What do you want Leon?” the princess burst out, pulling at her hair. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it! Do you want me to prostrate myself on the ground to you? You want me to march through the streets cursing my grandmother’s name? _What the fuck do you-”_

“I want my friend back!” he shouts, voice echoing through the forge. “I want the woman who would enter belching contests with me and who told dirty jokes and who made my sister smile brighter than I had ever seen and who sat by our hearth petting our cat like she belonged there and who slipped into our lives like a fucking _puzzle piece!”_ Leon is panting when he finishes his speech, and he turns away to plant his hands against the worktable, fighting to hold himself together. Gods, he wants to go back in time. He wants to go back to before he learned about her real identity and when he thought his sister’s partner was just Ciri the witcher, raised by wolves.

A second passes, then two, then three, until a hand rests tentatively on his shoulder. “It’s still me Leon,” the princess says quietly. “I haven’t been Cirilla for years.” 

Leon’s head droops. “That’s not fair,” he says raggedly. “It’s not fair that you can cast off your title like poorly fitted clothes while people know my ancestry from one glance at my ears.” He turns his burning gaze to hers. “You know I tried growing my hair out,” he nods listlessly. “Thought I could hide ‘em.” Leon releases a hoarse laugh. “I learned quick you can’t hide who you are.” His gaze grows flinty. “Unless you’re a princess apparently.” 

Her expression shutters at his words. “It wasn’t a choice you know,” she mutters. Glaring up at him, she says harshly, “Or did you forget that all my people were massacred before me and I barely escaped with my life?” 

Leon feels himself slowly growing numb, a common occurrence when things get too much. Words like poison slip out of his lips. “Poor princess,” he taunts with a sneer. “Gets to run away and abandon her people and duties while everyone else dies in her name. Tell me, did you get a taste of how our people felt when blood ran through the streets of Cintra?” 

Leon’s ears ring as he’s slapped. The princess vibrates with barely contained fury, eyes bright with grief. “Don’t you dare,” she grits out. “Don’t you dare spit on the graves of my people.” 

“At least they have graves,” Leon hisses, leaning into her space. 

“Enough,” barks a voice. They both turn to see Vesemir from where he has his arm wrapped around a sobbing Ewa. Fuck. “What do you hope this will accomplish boy? What can Ciri say or do to make your pain lessen?”

“She can bring my fucking parents back!” he bellows, before collapsing to the floor. Curling up in a ball, Leon buries his head in his lap. “She can bring them back,” he sobs. 

Strong arms forged by manual labor wrap themselves around him and despite himself Leon leans into his sister’s embrace. “You know she can’t do that Lee Lee,” Ewa whispers, and her childhood name for him just makes Leon crumble more. “Please. Don’t blame her for the sins of her ancestors. Don’t push away a person who has only showed us kindness.” 

And like weakened glass, Leon shatters, the anger he had wrapped around himself like protective armor peeling away to leave only the raw layers of grief and loss. Tears he hasn’t allowed fall since that fateful day come in uncontrollable torrents, and Leon is helpless to stop them. It was never about Ciri; she just triggered it all again. She unlatched doors to the sorrow Leon has tried so hard to combat with jokes and grins, thinking if he just smiled long enough the pain would disappear.

But it never did. Instead, that grief and anger and hurt built and built over the years until it was as strong as Kaedwanian armor. The occasional visits to his parents’ graves before he slipped his mask back on only served to reinforce it all. Then Ciri confessed and his defenses crashed down, the doors to his grief bursting open and knocking him over like a tidal wave, leaving a hollowed out husk where Leon once stood.

But he’s tired of hiding. He’s tired of being angry. He’s tired of being alone. 

In between gasping breaths of air, Leon peers up to find Ciri silently weeping into Vesemir’s arms. “Ciri,” he rasps, and hearing her name from his lips again makes her jolt and look at him with red rimmed and timid eyes. Silently, he reaches out a trembling hand. Without hesitation, Ciri launches herself into his embrace, and Leon buries his face into coarse hair, breathing in the smell of lemon and tears. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.” Leon hushes her in between his own tears that won’t stop coming. 

“It wasn’t you,” he mumbles. “It wasn’t your fault.” And with his two sisters on either side of him, Leon allows himself to finally grieve. 

*******

Lambert has been waiting for this moment. He’s been _born_ for this moment. Under the guise of celebrating the blacksmiths and the squirt finally getting their shit together, Lambert has brought out his hardiest moonshine yet. And Geralt is deep in his cups. Receiving the nod from Songbird, Lambert grins manically. Pulling out the ball he’s hidden in his pack of moonshine bottles Lambert calls, “Hey Geralt!” When the witcher in question turns to him, Lambert tosses the ball so it goes flying across the hall. 

Within seconds, three wolves go chasing after it while Kamil fights Eskel’s restraining arms with a pitiful whine. Lambert cackles as the largest wolf trips over his own feet in his eagerness to get the ball, crashing into the wall when he completely misses his target. Jaskier chuffs with amusement before pouncing on his quarry, fighting Marya when she jumps on him to wrest it from his clutch. 

Lambert sprawls back in his seat to enjoy the show. “Are they always like this?” Leon asks from where he’s pressed against his twin.

“I asked the same thing last year,” Kamil says glumly, watching the trio longingly. 

”Soon little fox,” Eskel murmurs into Kamil’s hair, receiving a grumpy huff in response. The witcher twines his fingers with Kamil’s before pressing a soft kiss to the shifter’s lips. Lambert rolls his eyes. What a pathetic sap. As he watches Geralt gnaw on Jaskier’s ear, Aiden snakes his hand toward Lambert under the table. The Wolf glances furtively around the room before slipping his palm into the Cat’s. When Eskel shoots him a smirk Lambert bares his teeth at his brother. Fuck off Eskel, you don’t know what you’re talking about. 

*******

Ciri is beaming as she watches her fathers make utter fools of themselves. She doesn’t know how he managed it but Jaskier clearly plotted some revenge against his mate by making Geralt become the drunk one this time. It’s hard to say if Jaskier has come out on top however considering the shifter is currently pinned down as the witcher-wolf studiously grooms him. Despite Jaskier’s desperate squirming to escape, he’s no match for the larger and drunkenly determined wolf. 

Leon’s booming laugh at the tableau makes Ciri spin to stare at him. Fuck she missed that sound. The blacksmith has his arm wrapped around Ewa and the twins are pressed so no space is between them. It makes her heart ache. She almost tore their family apart and that guilt hasn’t fully dissipated. Ciri doesn’t know if it ever will. Leon glances at Ciri with a crooked grin. “I’m starting to understand why you’re so uncivilized pipsqueak,” he teases. 

Fuck. Ciri feels her eyes start to water. She didn’t think she would hear that name out of his mouth again. Leon’s smile is replaced with a look of concern. “Hey hey hey,” he hushes, reaching across Ewa to draw Ciri closer. Leon presses their foreheads together. “We’re okay Ciri,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Fresh tears start to flow down Ciri’s cheeks and she throws her arms around Leon. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She was so afraid the scene back at the forge was just a fleeting moment and after that she was going to be turned away again. Ciri wouldn’t blame him. How can you look into someone’s eyes, welcome them in your home, knowing they’re related to the person who murdered your people? “I’m sorry pipsqueak,” Leon says grimly into her ear. 

Ciri shakes her head fiercely. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” she responds, her voice filled with self-loathing. 

Drawing her back, Leon tilts Ciri’s chin so they meet each other’s eyes. “It wasn’t fair to you Ciri,” he says, running his hands soothingly up and down her arms. Nodding to the two wolves currently tussling on the floor Leon says, “When your father came to bring me here he told me about someone close to him who took their anger and pain out on him ‘cause he was the closest and easiest target.” Brushing a thumb across Ciri’s cheek Leon presses their foreheads together again. “I’m ashamed to say I did the same to you.” Ciri’s stomach twists at the comparison. She’s heard the story about the dragon hunt; Geralt used it as a cautionary tale about communication and anger management, as ironic as that is coming from the witcher. But this isn’t the same; Ciri had a hand in this mess.

“I should have told you from the start,” she says brokenly, looking down at where their hands are now clasped together. 

Leon hums, looking into the distance. “If you had we wouldn’t be here.” 

“Where? Crying and fighting over who gets to take the blame?” she asks sardonically, sniffing. 

Cuffing her chin Leon grins at her. “Smartass.” Sighing, he shakes his head. “‘Here’ being friends. Here being on the path to forgiveness and healing and grieving and acceptance of the past.” Ciri eyes Leon curiously as he avoids her gaze. She thinks back to last year. One night when they were curled up together, Ewa told Ciri how she broke down in front of Marya and grieved for the first time since her parents’ deaths. Now Ciri wonders if Ewa wasn’t the only one who had been repressing that day. Maybe this hasn’t been about her as much as Ciri thought. Maybe it really is what Leon is trying to say. She made a good scapegoat for his grief. After all, anger is far easier than sorrow. 

Drawing Leon into a hug Ciri says fiercely, “Thank you for letting me stay in your life.” 

Returning the embrace Leon quips, “Well it would be kinda awkward not to since I’ll be staying here the rest of the winter.” 

Leaning back Ciri gapes at Leon as Ewa punches his arm with a grin. “Really?” she breathes, heart fluttering in her excitement. 

Glancing over to where Vesemir is watching Marya with a soft smile Leon shrugs. “That old man can be pretty convincing.” 

"Don't let him hear you call him old," Ciri says, her cheeks hurting from how hard she’s beaming. She’ll have to find a way to thank the witcher. Knowing him, he’ll take his thanks in the form of biscuits or offerings to muck out the stalls. 

Hm. mucking out the stalls it’ll be.

*******

Roach nuzzles Scorpion with a happy huff. It was a nice surprise when Roach and Scorpion’s humans met up in the warm time so Roach and Scorpion could spend some time together. All the humans got distracted by something noisy one was doing so Roach and Scorpion wandered off to have some time to themselves. Roach can feel the little one growing inside her now. She wonders what they will look like. _Foal?”_ Scorpion asks, nudging at Roach’s side. _Yes_ Roach snorts, tail swishing happily. Hopefully loud one, gentle one, Roach, and ball of fluff will be back here in time for when the little one wants to come out.

*******

”There you are,” Marya sighs, coming up beside Vesemir as he eyes the horses in their stalls. “What are you looking at?”

“Hm. Something’s going on with those two,” Vesemir rumbles. Studying where Scorpion and Roach are nuzzling, Marya shrugs. As long as they’re a stall apart they should be fine. The last thing Geralt and Jaskier will want is a foal on the Path. And considering how long the gestation period is for horses, if these two found a way to fool around now Geralt would find himself with a babe in Autumn. Not ideal. 

“So what have you been up to in the smithy?” Marya asks casually, grinning as Vesemir looks caught out. 

The witcher feeds Roach some oats silently while Marya leans against the mare's stall, admiring her mate in the low light that streams through the stable doors. “Ewa was teaching me smithing,” he finally mumbles. Marya’s eyebrows raise. She’s sure that helped occupy the girl during the whole mess with Leon. 

“Oh? And how did that go for you?” 

Marya watches with interest as Vesemir seems to have an internal debate before he fumbles in his pocket to pull something out, gripping it in a fist. “Took me a couple a tries but-” Vesemir shrugs in a way Marya can only describe as self-conscious, a term she would never have applied to her mate until this very moment. “Anyway, uh-” with another shrug Vesemir opens his fist and shoves something in Marya’s face. Rearing back, Marya blinks before refocusing on the object dangling through his fingers. 

Mouth gaping in awe, she traces a finger down the metalwork, glancing at Vesemir for permission before taking it out of his hands. As it pools in her palm, Marya stares down at the necklace. The pendant is of a wolf howling, overlaid with a bow. “It's beautiful,” Marya breathes, eyes shining. No one in her life other than Julian has ever made her something before and now Marya's heart threatens to burst right out of her chest. 

Nodding, Vesemir clears his throat before grunting, “Good, good-glad to hear it.” Rolling her eyes at her gruff, awkward mate, Marya kisses him gently, smiling as she does. 

Turning and lifting her hair so Vesemir can clasp the gift around her neck, Marya smirks mischievously. "So shall I read this as a betrothal gift?” she asks innocently, chuckling at the choking sound behind her. Returning to face her mate, Marya allows herself a long laugh at Vesemir’s panicked expression. “I’m teasing my moonlight,” Marya grins, pecking his cheek. “You’re my mate, a bond far stronger and more powerful than any marriage.” 

Recovering from his shock, Vesemir looks at her, shifty-eyed. “And if I were to ask for your hand?” he asks carefully.

Beaming, Marya says, “Why, I’d say yes of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this fic I have officially passed 100,000 words in this series. What the fuck. When I wrote "You've Been Deprived" I NEVER would've imagined I would be completing the 14th part in a series, let alone writing over 100,000 words. 
> 
> This is all because of you: to everyone who has given kudos, bookmarked, commented, shared a fic with someone else, I've written this much because of you. Whether you've been with me since the start or have just jumped onto this crazy series, your encouragement, enthusiasm, and thoughtful/hilarious/kind comments and prompts have been an utter gift and an incredible motivator. Thank you my lovelies! Tune in next time for Bedalk's (number unavailable) attempt to write a fic that actually sticks to the original outline.


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